That I did her
So will I be done
That I brushed away
So brusquely
All she had to say
That my voice raised
In defiance
And never then erased
The look of hurt upon her face
Not that I could replace
I shouted, my words sharp
My words a stinging slap
Almost heard, although absurd
Above the thunderclap
I shot down or ignored
The offer to pare the fruit
I was no child! Even less mild!
The point was clearly moot
I yelled when my room changed
Almost in an instant
My attitude was growing
Ever so malignant
I cried that it was none so fair
Who made me do it all
Not thinking of my mother
Who cooked and cleaned the hall
I stamped my foot impatient
My words inflecting high
The matter was not mine to push
But still, the thought was nigh
And when I sit alone some day
In my own little shoe
I will remember, back a ways
Of just how little I knew
Look upon my granddaughter
And maybe give a smile
For these were things I said and did—
But only for a while.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem