In the writers' farm I am free-range;
I don't want my eggs in one basket,
I want to be broody in lark's houses,
In hare's forms.
I want to produce triangular eggs that bounce,
Or square ones with sky-blue yolks.
I want to bark instead of cluck,
And maybe have metal feathers.
And at the end, please,
A lion stamped on my poems
To prove they are up to scratch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem