It would be really very funny
said our poet to his honey
if suddenly the numbers changed
as if the world were now deranged.
That sow size forty would just flip
and run around, then take a trip
to places that are primitive
where they would try to reason if
some grounds for leniency exist
but after tests they do insist
that lessies with their shoulder pads
who play their games, then look at stats
can never be accepted ever
it is because they're not too clever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem