I've got a sister called Marie
She has to share a room with me
She's not what you'd call clean and neat
Then there's this problem, with her feet.
I open windows, spray the place
And wear a medic's mask, in case
The Doctor's right, and it might spread
I've had to fumigate her bed.
And she borrows all my clothes
I shouldn't mind, though, I suppose.
Daddy says not to be mean
But I'm size eight, and she's sixteen!
He says that if she meets a man
She might leave home, and then I can
Have my room all to my self
And she can get down from the shelf.
I think he might be dreaming! ! !
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very amusing Owain, love it.