I've told about the times that Ma can't find her pocketbook,
And how we have to hustle round for it to help her look,
But there's another care we know that often comes our way,
I guess it happens easily a dozen times a day.
It starts when first the postman through the door a letter passes,
And Ma says: 'Goodness gracious me! Wherever are my glasses?'
We hunt 'em on the mantelpiece an' by the kitchen sink,
Until Ma says: 'Now, children, stop, an' give me time to think
Just when it was I used 'em last an' just exactly where.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem