I talked with my mother
she whinged and she whined
'be kind to each other',
was the thought in her mind.

It's been many moons
that I followed her voice
but she sings the same tunes
to the men and the boys.

When the minutes had passed
she said, boy, mind the draft
and I gathered at last
that she thinks I am daft.

And her son is a talker
who reminded his mother
to rely on her walker
and be kind to each other.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-phone-call/