Why is it always bedlam when it gets to feeding time
'whats for tea, I don't like that' the endless droning whine
the dog sits under the table, she's got the right idea
I wish that I could join her, it's safer under there.
There's sausage in the teapot, carrots in the sink
'mum get me a butty', 'mum get me a drink'
I wish I owned a burger bar, a Mc Donalds of my own
at least then I'd earn some money and order takeaway for home!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This could have been written for my daughter, Michelle...... sounds just like her household at teatime, even down to the dog under the table. Liked it very much. Love, Fran xx