On the old Post Office steps
two battered boozers sat
with similar lined expressions
and identical wooly hats.
As the roll up and the beer can
passed genially to and fro
a busker played 'Moon River'
on his better days trombone.
When I neared the two of them
I thought I heard one say...
'Y'know, this really ain't so bad,
it beats working anyday'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem