'That's a Stormtrooper there, but with ginger hair, '
I heard the kid say to the man.
'Is he really that white? ', the lad said in fright,
Questioning a complete lack of tan.
I knew just what he meant, for two weeks had I spent,
With the palest being in all of mankind,
In this holiday town, he made Casper look brown,
Himself to four-digit factor he'd confined.
See the narrative here, is evidently clear,
If you're Irish, red-haired and fair,
Your skin just wasn't made, in the sun to be laid,
But they say Pluto's cheap once you're there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem