I never write poetry.
But,
When driving an ugly truck
Down a busy road,
Or walking alone
In the mountains,
I meet a dumb soul;
I hunt around for wrapping paper,
To give my voice,
Like a cheap gift
With no ribbons.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm sure they'll like your voice, but instead of worying how to present it as a gift you might consider to tell them about everything what others keep secret... they might simply be not informed about many things, rather than being dumb... Interesting write... thank you for sharing...