I reached my sister's house and sank on a sit
Waiting again for a sip of whisky
For the freedom was better and too frisky
Unlike my own home where freedom less beat
For husbands rule the world without a low fit
I gazed around, but there was no a bit of whisky
And told myself that there was a sip of whisky
And departed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem