We do not print poetry
The newspaper said
So I burned that paper
Instead
They write about rape, murders and theft
From day to day politics
To the little good will, man does
Are we in a curse
How dare they not print
Our verse
We shall and forever be
A very, very poetic
Society
In our mind, body and soul
So run your papers
Run them in black
Sell them in your box
I'll keep my fifty cents
I'm not coming back
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I know how true is that. With the fifty cents you can get a stamp and mail some of your work to someone maybe they will print it and you can take it back to the stupid people at the paper. Marilyn