My sweet little daughter,
you are almost grown.
Before I know it,
you'll be on your own.
I want you to know,
there's NO shortage of boys.
Why can't you be happy
to still play with your toys?
'Those boys are trouble',
I've told you many times.
You don't seem to listen,
maybe, you'll HEAR my rhymes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem