My boy, you threw a fistful of sand,
Into your mamee's mouth,
Then you ran away.
Now I caught you, and held your hands and rolled you in it.
My little boy, you are grown now.
You take your surfboard in your pick-up truck,
With your girl friend,
Who throws sand in your hair, surfer-dude.
And when you marry this mischievous girl,
Your little one will throw sand on your cheeks.
And you will all be puzzled,
And then start laughing, all of you throwing sand on each other.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem