From time to time I look on them and think
What are these poems, are they any good?
They are my offspring written down in ink,
I hope when read they're not misunderstood.
Imperfect things, yet they belong to me
And if at times I see their faults, at others
I am, as any parent blind and see
The things I want to see, but love then smothers
The rest; where is impartiality?
Yet does not every parent love their own?
This is a part of love's mentality
Ensuring that we speak in kindly tone.
These are my children, read them if you will,
But please, be mindful you show them no ill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem