The archangel Gabriel looked down from on high
At the sightseers thronging below.
He turned to his neighbour St Jim with a sigh
And earnestly asked, ‘Do you know
Why the poor souls don’t try
To take off and fly? ’
St Jim had a look
In th’angelic guidebook
And said to his friend, looking wise:
‘Their wings ain’t no use
Their arms is too loose
And they’re double angelical size.’
‘That’s all very well’
Said Chief Gabriel;
‘I’ll tell you where we are quids in.
They’re stuck on the ground
While we with one bound
Can dance on the head of a pin.’
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem