Mother

Few things
As sweet as
Fooling mother
At any age son or
Daughter but perhaps
Most of all as daughter.
Mother knows best about
What our mother knows about
But all the rest is our own secret
Guarded through life to give us
A smile when we desire what
Mother would most deplore.
And, why does a mother
Know if not because
She also has her
Secrets from
Her mother
And so on
Forever
Unlike
Father
Who knows
Not best but worst
Of what a mother fears
At least in his imagination
Which both mother and father
Come to believe is real like a
Rough stone or lie we keep
In our pocket or mind to
Turn over and over till
Smooth it is shaped
By our subjective
Memory to what
Suits us best
As father or
Mother son
Or daughter a
Bit of happiness
In secrets shared from
Generation to generation
Always from the
Mother.