Going into the kitchen,
Fills one with dismay,
'Cause the worktops,
They need clearing,
About twenty times a day.
Neither of ones children,
Ever stop and think,
To pick up a cloth,
Wipe up their mess,
Or put their dishes in the sink.
And now it's almost meal~time,
One knows what lies ahead,
So ones feigning an illness,
And going straight to bed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There's crafty, then there's poetic justice! For giving me a good chuckle, Te Absolvo hen! Danny