Perfect hands are those lined up with age
Every line tells a tale of mornings
Spent making the beds
Putting the laundry
On and making
The meal
Just
Drudgery
But never would
Mom entrusts the
Home to a total stranger
She makes sure all socks are
Darned, buttons intact, kept in drawers
Above it all, she looks in on notebooks, checking
If every child does what's expected as we lay in bed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem