Why don't you do something productive with time,
Instead of composing this torturous rhyme?
You've not only wasted so many short hours
In trying to build some poetical towers –
You've even inflicted them on other folk:
To force them to read your stuff's more than a joke.
You're doing it now (don't you find it ironic?)
You wish that your rhymes were worthwhile - nay, Byronic –
How can we this man's creativity stifle?
The only secure way must be with a rifle;
But seriously, few truly understand art:
Not many melt with creativity's heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem