I have just rediscovered this poem from April 2010. I hope you enjoy it.
Whilst sitting in a park, of which I am fond,
I saw a vast convoy of mothers, rounding the pond.
Each was armed with a resplendent pram or two:
A gaggle of parents and infants with nothing to do.
They marched two-by-two, as animals to the ark,
Apart from a loner, whose singularity was stark.
Had she been ostracised from a trio, or the group entire,
Or was she dreaming of joining the flock to which she aspired?
They pit-stopped round the corner, taking advantage of the shade,
A place which lesser mothers were forced to evade.
These had their prams, their parasols and their housewife's sunglasses too,
But the convoy stared at each one, to say "We are better than you."
Pity the young mother, who pushes her child alone,
Whose day is empty each time she leaves her home.
For she does not delight in the simple comfort and joy
Of parading in glory with the maternal convoy.
© Jack Blackburn, 12th January 2010