His pockets full
Of strangest things,
There's nuts and bolts
And bits of string.
He'll spend some time
At prodding toads,
Or saving things
He finds on roads.
... He's a boy.
He'll go and climb
The highest tree,
And call to dad,
'Hey look at me.'
Then to the ground
He'll quickly slide.
There's one thing that
You cannot hide,
... He's a boy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem