My parents often did repeat
To all their children, six,
If we, bick’ring incessantly,
Those older, got their kicks
By tormenting the young ’uns
Too young, up to them, stand,
And often played ’seniority’
To get the upper hand.
Though parents, did their duty,
Protecting ‘litters runt’
As lioness, her offspring hid,
When fleeing those who’d hunt.
Some one always did want ‘last word’,
It meant, to them, they’d won,
However, mum or dad stepped in
To quench the ‘olders’ fun.
When they did halt the ‘torment’,
And hence, the older’s ‘fun’
Their interceding, final,
And when they spoke, ’twas done.
They loved them all so equally,
The younger brood, defending
“Least said, Soonest mended
Nothing said needs no mending”
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