'Knock, knock, knock, ' sounds hail
But seems not to know this structure well
He might be blind not to see the doors
Or might crazy that roof-knocking he adores
In a few knocks the kids are out
Not to let him in but swallow and shout
Let him to the ground he will melt
The fun of the day has been felt
He adapts to himself to a such quick change
And makes it fun, amazing and strange
But he still has miles to go
Through river, lakes, ocean and all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem