Mother of Twins - A Poem

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 one's holding a crayon...another marked wall.
Some days seem endless, my patience grows thin.
Why was I chosen to be the mother of twins?

The answer comes clear at the end of each day,
as I tuck them into bed and to myself I say...
There's two to kiss, there's two to hug,
And best of all, there's two to love!