When I was four, I painted the wall dirty
spoiling, my dad's big party.
said he, 'you do nothing right'
'now, get out of my sight'
At four, my son painted the wall dirty
spoiling, my carefully planned party.
'continue, son', said I, 'though it sucks'
'we can sell it for big bucks'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem