I have put these words on paper
because i found no walls
the day, Friday, On a train
As hard as a rock I slept.
Never can I rest in peace
Especially in a place for lease.
I miss my law firm.
They complain I am unsightly,
That they own the bush or tree.
So their cold faces I stare at,
Until they threaten to get a bat.
So on I trudge through the mud,
maybe I’ll find a bud.
Maybe they lose their jobs
their homes and Rolex.
Then maybe they’ll see,
Life as a hobo aint a cup of tea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem