Son: What do you want for Mother’s Day, mummy?

Me: I’d love you to write me a poem.

Son: No, but, what do you want?

Me: I’d love you to write me a poem.

Son: Would you like a sculpture?

Me: That would be nice, but I would love you to write me a poem.

Son: Can I have a bag of crisps?

Me: Yes.

Son: But would you like a sculpture?

Me: Of course, but I would love you to write me a poem.

Son: Would you be happy if I made you a sculpture?

Me: Of course. You’re not going to write me a poem, are you?

Son: No.

Me: gets sculpture. It is half-human, half-butterfly, made of multicoloured tissue paper and pipe-cleaners, full of wit, warmth and wisdom. It has an ‘M’ on its tummy, for Mummy, he tells me, and Marie and Magic. I’ve never seen anything like it. It is the most beautiful poem I’ve ever seen.