I wish I were a troglodyte;
I wouldn’t worry what to write.
I’d scrape and scribble, scratch and scrawl
My musings on cool cavern’s wall.
I’d draw my dreams for all my worth
In chalk and clay and ash and earth,
But time flies fast, and frost has flown;
The woolly mammoth’s lost and gone
Now global warming’s here to stay
And Ice Ages are far away.
So I shall swelter, sweat and swear
Above the ground, in glasshouse glare
And have to rhyme my thoughts instead
To paint those pictures in my head
Until I’m called to that cold cave
To sleep in silence in my grave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem