When you were born, stars popped out of their sockets with your loud crying.
You didn't like strangers - you'd yell at the top of your lungs.
Poor Mom, you were such a cute little baby - but, boy what a pair of lungs you had.
At Christmas when we all got to sit on Santa's lap - your little face got all screwed up and out came the yells and crying - as the photographer got the perfect shot for the newspaper's front page.
Poor Santa Claus!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem