Mum's bit of egg money on the mantelpiece
In the broken teapot in the olden days,
Hardly earned and hoarded there,
Much content afforded there
Long before inspectors came and bureaucratic ways.
But science by the barn-door rules the farmer's lot
And Mum's bit of egg-money dwindles in the pot.
Ever since the first years this was mother's perquisite,
Eggs daily gathered by the old barn door,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem