Lance follows Nancy
Through the streets of Gdańsk;
No, this isn't stalking;
This is a dance;
A not-so-fancy dance
That's called the chase.
Lance acts all enchanted
& begins his advance
Spurred on by some urge
Submerged in his pants.
Nancy retreats
In this quaint, anxious prance
& every few steps
Throws a backwards glance.
A glance back
At the man
Who lives for a second chance.
A second chance
He'll never get.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem