They dress in furs
And leather coats;
They mingle with
'The better folks, '
They dine among
The restrauant class
And sip from fluted
Champagne glass;
But their ears are pointed,
Their teeth are sharp,
And though the lady
Plays the harp,
A yellow glow
Is in their eyes
Savoring that
Which we despise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a caustic cut on the tribe.