Raucous laughter filled the room.
As mum chased him with a wooden spoon.
The little boy spoke too soon,
as his mother cornered the pint-sized goon.
Don't mess with your mother,
Lest you regret it all round.
Don't cuss your mother,
You'll never live it down.
If you are a pint-sized grommet.
Rewards as you sing her a sonnet.
But you'll see twelve blue moons come and go,
before mum lets you cuss as you grow.
A fascinating poem imbued with insight and wisdom. Well crafted write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An outstanding poem. Nothing like a beautiful childhood.