I asked one day of my mother,
'Are you sure you did not birth another? '
For surely, in Julie, I see
A mirror image of me.
Yet you're Thelma, and I'm Louise!
I'm bullheaded, you're easy to please,
Always willing to bend,
Burning your candle at both ends,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem