After a night of tequila, and a 24 hour virus,
The next morning, no toilet paper in the house.
Struggling to the mailbox, a letter from my banker,
Why don't you come in and see me this week.
Expectation of the warmth and love of my morning coffee,
Then the sugar was out and the milk soured.
Finally dressed walking out with my socks on backwards,
A note on the table from my wife, sealed with a heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem