My Defence

In my defence, my mother wasn’t there
Admonishing me, that maternal tone
So certain and effective (now I’m grown
It still has power), coupled with her glare
That threatened everything. I was aware
Of something wrong, what I should leave alone,
But no voice stopped me, so that heaving moan
Encouraged me, pushed me to be unfair.

Apologies won’t help you, or save me,
So I will only say, “It’s understood
That I refrained from doing what I could
To make things right, as anyone can see.”
Defence like this is no apology:
My heart is not contrite; I’m not much good.