i could take to pay the road
i rob peter to pay paul
between the rock and a hard plate
a rod of pickle
i make a rod for my own back
selling someone down the rivers
my bad quarter of an hour
rome was not build in a day
are in a smoke filled room
i give people enough rope
a rough passage of my life
rough around the edges
rough edges of my tongue
ride roughshod over my life
my bad quarter of an hour
rub around my wrong ways
have crossed the rubicon
have ruffle someone feathers
i should have used good tongues
there is no saying
l like a scalded cat to make decision
my last bad quarter of an hour
i do things behind the scene
on the scent of my actions
am at the sea
i rise to the bait
all over bar shouting
my last bad quarter of an hour
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem