I swung from the roof top
of a sweet selling stall
and snaffled some sweeties
whilst nobody saw
dipped each one in poison
and replaced as before
then laughed as the children
fell dead on the floor
now I've jackets of leather
and ornaments of hair
my real bone toothpick
aids daily dental care
and so, little children
of sweeties, BEWARE
unless you wish to end up as
my living room chair
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem