When I see your mother,
I see her in you.
You share the same eyes,
you laugh the same too.
When you speak your mind
I hear an echo of your dad,
and when you get annoyed,
it's him getting mad.
I feel sorry for our daughter,
she looks a lot like me,
but she already swears like you,
not bad for the age of three.
My son, now he's a strange one,
I don't know who he looks like,
but he does talk with a stutter,
just like the postman Mr Pike.
Orlando Belo's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Traits by Orlando Belo )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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