Bumps

I remember when we were little boys
We'd bump our heads and knees,
Then run to Mother for a kiss
"Make better, Mommie, please?"

Oh -- how close she held us
Drying all our tears,
"Don't you cry my darlings
No more hurts or fears."

Then as we grew big and strong
More bumps of larger size,
Always seemed to interfere
With our grown-up lives.

And now a voice from out the past
As in those by-gone days,
Whispers low in tenderness
"You better mend your ways."