The Bible tells of the rod of correction.
Surely, my mama read that Bible verse.
Mama's rod was a dreaded peach tree switch.
A rod could not have hurt any worse.
When we children would ever misbehave,
To that stately peach tree we were sent.
We then had to obtain our own switch,
So slowly to that peach tree we went.
That faithful peach tree struggled
Trying to bear a few peaches each year,
For we kids kept its lower branches
Stripped of the switches we did fear.
After all Mom's children became adults,
That peach tree bore peaches so swell.
It seemed to say, "You're not spoiled!
My switches trained you very well!"
This poem was a finalist in the August 2012 poetry contest