Monday's Child
My Mom sang this song,
"Monday's child is fair of face,"
Pretty girls are blessed.
Boys and toys and lollipops
Surround those with sunbeam smiles,
But girls with plainer faces
Must shine with social graces.
© 2008 Joyce Greene (All rights reserved)
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Wonderful way to put this
Joyce,
I think I'm in love with this piece for the simple way that it deals with an all to true way of the world. Pretty girls get by on their smile while plain jane must resort to guile.
Wow,
Pete
great minds run in the same veins, Pete...
I considered, for weeks really, using either the word guile or wiles in the last line of this poem, but finally didn't go that route for fear of being considered too callous. But that was the way my mind went, too! Thanks for the nice comment.
joyce
a great read
Joyce I loved this one sounds a good song,
I remember songs well that my mother sang, most precious are memories ,
you have brought it all back for me in your well written poem, thankyou Joyce hugs from Willow
thanks, willow
I think we all remember the stories and songs our mothers told and sang to us to teach us life's lessons. Thanks for the nice comment, willow.
joyce
This is sweet and true
This is sweet and true
thanks, mimi
Thank you for reading and commenting on my poem. I appreciate your nice words.
joyce
Not you!
Joyce -- This poem makes it sound like you are talking about your own mother and that she is advising you to develop the social graces because you were born with a plain face. Hey -- that was me, not you! You're the beautiful one with blond hair and blue eyes. I'm the plain Jane with the brown hair and brown eyes, the short little wren compared to my tall, willowy egret of a sister. So the question is, how can a reader tell when a poem is autobiographical? Or perhaps you will say it doesn't matter. People can think what they want? -- MS
I think you are exaggerating quite a bit...
but thanks, MS. You are definitely the one with self confidence, not me! I have written a few poems based on the Mother Goose rhyme, "Monday's Child," this is one of the series. This poem just seemd to come out. I never know exactly where they come from. That's the joy of writing and reading poetry. The poems mean something different to each reader, and even the poet doesn't know exactly what they mean because part of it is unconscious. It is a remarkable process.
Thanks again for your nice words.
Love,
joyce