My trousers are tight.
They just won't fit.
And my jumper?
I've grown out of it.
My shirt's too short.
It just won't do.
There are holes in my socks
where my toes peep through.
So it's lucky I don't
grow out of my skin.
‘Cos then there'd be nothing
to put me in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem