What if our children were spoiled brats
Rummaging around the house like nasty rats,
And to them our emotions was like cheese
Which they devoured whenever they would please.
And then they would go from room to room
As to infest and to terrorize and to bring gloom,
They think all is theirs to have and to keep
And of course, rats do not care when we weep.
But, what if those rats instead was our own child
And us they have happily hurt, and defiled,
We see and we hear them plotting day and night
Here and there scampering, in and out of our sight.
They think that their privileged in our home
Freedom to them they believe is to wander and roam,
And when you're not around for your own benefit
They will steal, they will break, or they will eat it.
All know that rats are best when they are dead
Instead of hiding and terrorizing and stealing bread,
And when you finally set that one mighty trap
Rodents and children, will finally end all their crap.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem