I see a saw...
So for Pauline
It's war!
I talk to the trees,
Surreptiously,
To warn them
Of her toy...
But, oh boy!
....Too late.
It will be their fate
To end in the grate.
Looking ashen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My favourite of the crop. But be very, very careful, Mr BBS, because I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK............. Love, Fran xxx