A little rock that's stuck in your shoe,
Is not a real problem per se,
Not until your sole is bruised,
When you reach the end of your day.
Answering phones with one hand,
With the other I'm wiping bums,
That's Ok it's just my lot,
I'm a harried, working Mum.
I would love you to rub my sore spot,
I've got some other spots that need rubbing too,
And please remind me before tomorrows grind,
To remove that effing rock from my shoe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem