How many times have I told you
Money does not grow on trees?
Mother said this every time I scuffed my shoes
That was a long time ago.
It’s her fortieth birthday
I am thinking what to buy her
It’s a big one, so must be something good
driving home from work, I found it
The florist on Market Street is closing down
There in the window, a money tree
Bursting from its pot
I think mum will see the funny side
I made sure to polish my shoes
Before taking it to her
I wrote on the card
Here’s hoping, from your loving son, Mark
Who is wearing mirror shine shoes…
© Anita Dawes 2021
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