I am not that clever.
Never a good planner.
Often tip over the bumps.
But never get the humps.
I smile at my fate.
It seems very funny.
Its stare gives me cold.
And my nose gets runny.
I sneeze sad sighs.
And jump for the highs.
Never know what's called cries.
Often belch out my neighs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem