Poem Hunter
(04 October 1943 / Germany)


Poem By Herbert Nehrlich

She has a son.
Who married, wow,
what has emerged
as one of those
who do relax
in hempen hammocks
and let the world
go by, go by.

The little one
is who does count.
She's being fed
the enfamil,
with iron, too
and Gerber jars,
Grandma does care
but what to do.

I did advise,
do subterfuge
let crap be crap
and take the child
to have her safe
and give her food,
perhaps a goat
and Lendon Smith.

I like the old
and caring one,
though she will not,
this day and time,
be there for her.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 5 votes ) 4

Comments (4)

This is real irony, Herbert, and it made me smile since I am a grandmother who sometimes wonders about the choices my daughters make in rearing their children. Your response to the grandmother was really funny. Raynette
Very nice.....I can imagine what my mother thinks about the way I raise my kids :)
How i wish i could understand your german poems H. Your english poetry is great. I imagine your german poetry is better. cheers -war
Interesting poem.........grandparents are priceless. I didn't really have grandparents but I always envied those who did. (I may have misinterpreted this) :) Mary