That modern feat,
the pocket computer,
makes wonder obsolete.
What a blackleg
and the Euxine are
no longer put you off
an old author.
Nothing rhymes with that,
you quickly compute,
and change it to 'writer',
which at a nose-pinch,
pairs well with 'al-Qaeda'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem