The chamber pots are going cold,
Food inside seems to get bold;
For heat is the miracle of the wealth,
I greatly stare at this layer of health.
The pans and pots fall down again,
Cutlery has shrieked always in pain.
The audacious mind is a special tension,
Pull the leads and wires for cohesion.
A little betrayal is a little worrying,
But the kitchen speaks to you, annoying.
I have a plate and solid goblet of gold,
Beaming with light, delight as it is told.
My dinner and lunch punches and kicks,
In a match of distress, and then he licks.
Taste must dismiss the outer despair,
Tasty meats are rolling in the mouth in here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem