There once was a maid from Marseilles,
who, after her minitel frays,
said: 'this is enough,
no more of such stuff! '
yet gaily she daily still plays.
'For boredom' she says 'often preys
on the mind and I find that the days
trip so quickly that I
never feel the time fly'
Her employer steep billing defrays.
Thus, once on the screen, she displays
special talents as siren to phrase
an attractive reply
prompting many a sigh,
from all who attract her fond gaze.
She all impoliteness repays
with swift deconnection, and says
in a furious huff
that 'approaches too gruff
are too much in a minitel maze! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem