I’m 88 you know
You’re not!
You’ve got such lovely skin
I feed my face with goodies
From my Tunnock’s Teacakes tin.
I ran the Mothers’ Union
What, good works and scones and God?
That’s right and He and I agree
That everyone is odd
They make my days go all to pot
These people always late
I greet them with my boxing glove
And say I’m 88
Excuses are a lot of rot
You have to be prepared
Those 4 year olds I taught at school
Behaved because I cared
In Limavady Ballygrot
Ralloo and Drumahoe
A thousand former pupils say
She’s 88 you know
And never even once forgot
A face their place their name
Now hers is great great auntie
And her memory’s still the same
All details since the year of dot
All juicy breaking news
All stories wise and wonderful
With worldly overviews
I listened cuddled in my cot
We listen to each other
I’ve learned so much but mainly this
She’s 88, my mother