The sisters are in with'n the house,
try'n to fit in mother's blouse.
The youngest won't smile, the eldest tries,
they are two sisters of same race.
When it's dark, the youngest cries,
while the other wipes the tears off her face.
The sisters so cute, with lovely looks,
when mom's away, becomes good cooks.
soon they'd blacken'd the pan,
ignoring it, they ate and slept.
When mom came home, the fretting began,
and at the end, the two sisters wept.
The sisters so pretty, dress'd in a lace,
the youngest so shy, won't show her face.
Brawlers now, sisters next minute,
girls all mama will be proud of.
although anger'd, still two sisters in spirit,
that's the definition of true love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem