The Headless Horseman's Mother

Before he was a horseman,
little headless was a boy.
Despite this imperfection,
he was mother's pride and joy.

She always overlooked it
when he'd walk into a wall,
or skip his daily gym class
cuz he couldn't catch a ball.

She'd always tell him, "Darling,
every one of us has woes,
but mommy thinks you're perfect
from your neck down to your toes."

She'd kiss him on the shoulder
and she'd send him off to school.
His teachers really loved him,
but his classmates could be cruel.

They taunted and they teased him
and to all their friends they said:
"We never play with that guy
cuz he doesn't have a head."

He couldn't see the blackboard
no matter where he sat
and he envied anybody
with a place to put a hat.

His life was far from easy.
His frustrations were acute,
but through his tribulations
mother's love was absolute.

When Headless went to college,
mother packed his travel bag.
"My son will be a doctor,"
she was often heard to brag.

But after graduation,
the scenario was bleak.
Most patients want a doctor
who can see and hear and speak.

He never had a girlfriend
and he vowed he'd never wed.
He didn't want his children
to be born without a head.

With nothing much to live for
he began to sulk and brood.
So mother bought a stallion
to improve his sour mood.

"You'd make a handsome horseman,"
mother said to him with pride.
She handed him a package
with some nice black clothes inside.

Once fully dressed and mounted,
he felt instantly complete.
He'd finally found his calling -
Headless Horseman sounded neat.

She handed him a thermos
and a warm, hand-knitted shawl.
She said, "Darling, take these with you.
It gets nippy in the fall."

The horse reared up and bolted
and through all the dust that passed,
she waved good-bye and shouted,
"Now remember, not too fast!"


©Linda Knaus