WHOPPER:

My old Grandpa & I in our denim-dungaree´d rolled up knees,

On the rosy dawn banked river, beneath the old willow trees,

Our fishing lines cast into rushing streams, silent in our dreams,

Tiddlers caught, grilled & washed down with root beer schemes.      

At home I yelled, “Mom, Gramps & I caught a real great whopper”,

With arms out wide & my Momma´s eyes huge, a real big shocker,

“So where is your whopper of a great big fish?” she gently asked,

“We grilled it & ate it hot”, I said looking at Gramp´s face, a mask.

Years sped, the car was not a jalopy, but a big one & so very super,

The girlfriend was a real beauty, a model & I was the real trooper,

My job was the company´s manager & not really the delivery boy,

I tried so very hard to be the best for Mom, but it was all just a ploy.

The day Momma left this earth; she smiled & dropped a real shocker,

“My darling son, I love you dearly, but please drop the real whoppers”,

She knew of all my little lies all these years, but she never, ever let on,

And knowing that I was a blatant liar, she was still so proud of her son.

Now I´m a grandpa & to the old river I take my little grandson fishing,

“Catch what you can sonny & give up all that old dreaming & wishing”,

I made him tell his own Momma, it was just a teeny tiddler he´d caught,

And both he & I were proud of this lesson that was well learnt & taught.

My little grandson said, when he caught a tiny little grey rock-hopper,

“Well, Mom won´t know, if we tell her that I caught a real big whopper”,

I looked into his big blue eyes & said “Believe me, she will know my son,

But she will love you even more if you tell her that it was just a little one”.