SOMETIMES when they are tucked in bed the gentle mother comes to me
And talks about each curly head, and wonders what they're going to be.
She tells about the fun they've had while I was toiling far away,
Recalls the bright things that the lad and little girl have had to say.
Each morning is a pleasure new, and gladness overflows the cup,
And then she says: 'What will we do, what will we do when they're grown up?'
She looks about the room and sees the train of cars beneath the chair,
The soldiers resting at their ease, the wooly dog, the Teddy bear,
The china doll, the painted ball, the building blocks about the floor,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem