The sun shines upon a bowler hat
And I am up thinking the hat
On its own moves
The hat is so huge
And the wearer a midget
Goes like the snail
A shell pressing him down.
I am at eleventh floor
The clouds move
And I think that the edifice
Has grown some legs downstairs
I close my eyes
And let the midget
On his way!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem