Back to work I go, be there rain or white snow
That I were in an Ivory Tower... instead, so down low...
Up high and airy, it feels right to some,
dirty and greasy I like, sitting on my bum.
Here I can feel life's good dirt, all of it,
elsewhere, it'd be hearing only the call of it.
This is my play, my stage, all my creation.
Actors you, me and all, just my imagination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem