Nothing in this house is mine, putting day and nights in
365 days a year without a break, birthdays, Mother's Day,
Anniversaries, will always find me making my own cakes.
Setting up parties, doing all the work of every day tasks,
everyone gets their days off, cakes from Mom, presents from
Mom, time from Mom, Life from Mom.
Buying the television, he says he did, buying the truck and
he says it's his, I mean, what - just what belongs to Mom?
I'll tell you what in the next verse.
Dirty dishes, dirty clothes, dirty floors and rugs, dirty
windows and appliances, dirty toilet, tub, messy counters
and table, messy bedrooms, living room, kitchen.
And that's not all, the messy back and front yards, when
it's all clean belongs to everyone but Mom! Clean dishes
become ours, clean clothes also.
Such is this Mom's little tirade, now hoping things will
become more equal, sharing chores with her, but not hold-
ing her breath, because that's the life of a Mom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem