T W I N S

There's two to wash
There's two to dry,
There's two who argue
There's two who cry.

One's in the mud
Having a ball
The other holds a crayon
Another marked wall.

Some days seem endless
My patience grows thin.
Why was I chosen
To be a Mother of Twins?

The answer comes clear
At the end of each day,
As I tuck them in bed
And to myself I say.

There's two to kiss
There's two to hug.
And best of all
There's two to hold and love.