There once was a poet named Gina
though she wasn't from Argentina,
but she didn't accept
that the future is kept
by the creatures that have a small wiena.
If she reads what I wrote once again
and then copies it with a soft pen
she will mumble 'how odd'
and then give it the nod
and my poem will get one more ten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem