He liked me, my boss,
As looks counted
In those days,
And I was handsome then.
But I was fairly
Messed up,
Emotionally dead,
My sociable persona
Carrying the day.
So good old Gavin,
Down in Kent,
Smoking like a chimney,
Wanted just the good news,
So I became his postman,
My smile-a-day
Keeping his woes
At bay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem