Yet another cold, gray morning in May,
The ‘boss’, uppish and brutish, didst to me say,
‘Young man I wanna have a word with you’,
Shuffled over to his office, without clue,
Of what he would say, or even accuse,
Behind his swivel chair, didst he insinuate,
That I, would one day on little (ewe) lambs feast,
Outwardly did I grimace and rapidly cogitate,
But inwardly was astonishedly amused to say the least,
How could he, ‘his highness’ the C.E.O. thus insinuate
Albeit falsely and grossly that I am a ‘beast’? !
Me, of all people, will on innocent lambs feast!
As I out of ‘his highness’’ office walked,
My amusement apparently him mocked.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem