Whilst waiting for a cranial MRI,
The person to my right, began to pry.
'Are they searching for some fatal tumour? '
'Just a brain, ' replied my driest humour.
'And me' he said, 'the reason I am here,
My heart's been failing nigh on sixty year! '
'Well maybe you should take my place instead,
It seems to me, like it's all in your head'. -
On I went with unveiled cynicism,
To tell him if this cure called optimism.
'And where can I, this panacea find? '
'Just like your ills, it's conjured in the mind.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem