Blubber abounds
In this retirement town.
Usually there's a cushion around
The buttock where it's generously found
And for those well nourished, it's also wound
About the middle, where hanging above the ground.
It overflows the belt; above the pants suspended.
At least for males it hangs there, untended.
And for the fairer sex, there's more.
Glands are fronted, galore
For all to see,
Mercy, Me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Retirement means you let your assets run to the gravity line... But no use blubbering about it! Rgds, Ivan