It was a family of two,
The citizens well knew,
That the hubby had no voice,
The wife being the boss.
Day in and day out,
The wife did, nonstop, shout,
That shook the nerves,
Of all their neighbours.
The husband bore in silence,
As any use of violence,
He knew it well,
He was in hell.
What can't be cured,
Must well be endured.
This much, he understood,
And stood like a wood.
To his dismay, one day,
He met a friend on his way.
Helpless was he, to rid of him,
Took him, for dinner, home.
He whispered into her ears,
With eyes full of tears,
To treat the guest well,
Without any yell.
His tears moved her heart.
She agreed at last,
That she would count three,
Before her shouting spree.
In the midst of dinner,
He lost his usual shiver.
His promise, he forgot,
In ordering this and that.
One, two and three,
Thus she counted three.
The pot of soup, she threw,
What an untamable shrew?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It was a family of two, The citizens well knew, That the hubby had no voice, The wife being the boss....house hold stroy prevalent in most of the houses...bautifult heme...i liked it