This is not a poem.
It is a follow-up report on what I told you about yesterday, how the glass-front door of my new Samsung kitchen range shattered yesterday while the stove was turned off and nobody was home.
I finally managed to talk to a real person at Samsung today. She had me open the range door to look for the serial number. When I did so, most of the cracked glass in the door fell out onto the floor.
The number was not there, so then she had me open the drawer below the door. This was really hard to open with all that broken glass on the floor, but I managed to get it open and found the serial number and gave it to her. In the process, I cut my hand on the broken glass. (Not a serious cut.)
She assured me that Samsung would take care of the problem, that a local service representative would contact me within 48 hours and come and replace the door. I asked if I could get the new door WITHOUT GLASS, but she didn't think that was possible. It would have to be an identical door, she thought.
We will see how soon and how well Samsung takes care of this problem.
Meanwhile, here is a new picture of how the door looks today.
To see yesterday's report, just click on the 'previous poem' button.
Samsung wanted me to take a picture of the door and send it so them, so I did. Then they said it was obviously our fault because we must have caused the damage by hitting it with something! We absolutely did nothing of the sort. They refused to do anything for us, so we will never buy anything else by Samsung.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have a very similar wall oven to this. My fridge freezer is a Samsung, and I have no regrets about it. Your long lines here are close to prose, but still a poem.