I am the photo copier who stands all day long.
You feed me with paper, ink and lots more. I like to make a mess of the paper, sometimes I make a nice mess, which you like and sometimes I make a good mess you hate.
As the days pass by I feel unwell, I have upset tummy aches. I break down quite a lot and then you send for the machine doctor so that he will make me better.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem