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 mark on the wall.
Some days seems endless,
my patience grows thin.
Why was I chosen to be
mother of twins?
The answer is clear at
the end of the day,
as I tuck them in bed and
to myself say;
There's two to kiss,
there's two to hug.
And best of all;
There's two to love
