Mother, mother
What shall I bring you
Shall I bring you roses or lillies?
You never told me what you like.
Mother, mother
What fruit would you like?
Apples? Plums? Mango?
You never told me what you like.
Mother, mother
Are you proud of me?
They told me you were a poet too.
But I barely write it.
You hid it away in a box
That I have never seen.
Would you have told me
To do something sensible?
You never told me what you would do.
Mother, mother
Why was I so young?
Why do I not know you?
What am I to do without you?
Why do I not weep at your mention?
You never told me what to do.
Mother, mother
Your hair was black smoke
Your eyes were wood
Your face soft
Just as mine are
So why do I not feel as beautiful as you?
You never told me what to do.