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Methinks thou doth protest too much - Mistress O the Quill

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Methinks thou doth protest too much

Parenting is something that most of us take seriously, and put the very best we have into our children, knowing that how we bring them up, how we treat them reflects upon their lives tomorrow. 
I wrote this poem some time ago, but thought it better to take off the Den, as certain members of my family would read in from time to time. However, since the passing of my beloved Uncle, who always did strive for peace with everyone, including his Sister, my Mother, I cannot offend him now! 
So I feel at liberty to express something that has been a thorn in my side since the age of 4 thereabouts. 
I did not have that loving nurturing relationship with my Mother, and so separation anxiety resulted. It has taken years to come to terms with this, and to be able to forgive her for her misdeeds. It was hard, but not impossible. Today even now, she loathes my Name, She has a problem, not I. 
I have written this because I want to reassure all those who have suffered as I have from abuse, physical and mental, and alienation from not only parents but sibs who aren't savvy enough to understand, that sometimes some women, Just really should not be mothers, if they are stricken with either prejudice or jealousy....It is a curse indeed!

 




Methinks thou doth protest too much


Wretched Woman sip thy cup O guile
savour it long remember it's smile
for soon cometh bitterest dregs
no cup bearer to aide thy begs

Thy daughter hast turned her face from thee
from malicious lies spurned endlessly
she hath sought solace fair
far from self righteous glare

Wretched woman glazed neath hate
tolling bells shall reveal thy fate
dost thy tree bear sweetest fruits
or hath it withered to rotted roots?

Soon cometh thy days of reckoning
autumn years bow to beckoning
wintry winds most fearsome gusts
soon to pale thy haughty lusts

Wretched woman rememberest when
blessed thou was with she back then
yet thy hardened heart sought no joy
sawest her more a means of ploy

Perfection be the illusionists art
hath been that way from the start
so if thou cryest foul play and such
Methinks thou doth protest.... too much!

 

Ch'erie de Perrot
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