It is a fresh day, I deplane my bed of dreams.
Walk to my window sill, to peep out and check what's in.
I see walks of all talks, some slow some fast
Some burning food, some fat, some fuel, some past.
I look straight down I see a woman standing,
I am annoyed as I can't figure out, what Nike's is she wearing.
Her buxom bosom comes in the way, and hides the snikers from my way.
I saw a man walking by, I can see his Nike's by,
There is nothing else for Tom to see, his belly is as good in the morning,
As it can be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem