I have a brother who is the first,
I have a brother who is the last.
I am a girl who is in the middle,
Always accompanied by a riddle!
When I exchange blows with them,
This is how my mom condemns:
Give him respect, he is elder!
Show some sympathy, he is younger!
But, what Am I?
Doing in the middle?
I am not the one to be shown respect,
I am not the one to be shown sympathy...
And when my Dad exaggerates:
'My sons, the first and the last-
Are Always fast,
But, the middle is slightly in contrast'
Contrast, In What way?
I convey:
'I was away,
With my friends at the cafe,
When I had to give them a bouquet
Before I could reach the buffet! '
I reach great heights,
And show them delights
But always my neigbours tell:
'Your sons never rebel,
I think the middle is hell! '
And I am the middle
Who Is always unable
To tolerate their riddle!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem