My little daughter is a tea-rose,
Satin to the touch,
Wine to the lips,
And a faint, delirious perfume.
But my little son
Is a June apple,
Firm and cool,
And scornful of too much sweetness,
But full of tang and flavor
And better than bread to the hungry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem