Arctic terns try to avoid man,
Migrating yearly pole to pole,
Flying on high o'er oceans span,
Maintaining air traffic control.
But terns must come to ground to nest,
And there must be ever alert
To guarding against human pest,
Who at times deserve to be hurt,
By getting struck by claw and beak,
With a coloring of dark red,
Which blends nicely with goal to seek -
A human running with head bled.
Humans are nothing but a curse,
Turning any tern for the worse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The rhyming here is astounding. Like running in a never-ending circle, humanity rights it's wrongs, but they return after awhile... This explains it perfectly :) keep penning!