There once was an ugly youngster.
Wearing clothes that his mother had bought.
And the girls he met would frown and fret.
Then leave him all distraught.
Grrr! Get out!
Get off! They'd shout.
And leave him all distraught.
So he went with a sniffle.
And a stagger and a piffle.
Eyes all bleary and overwrought.
That sad little ugly youngster,
Went places his school-chums went.
Disco, caf, youth-club he'd still feel the snub.
Scorned for his best attempts.
Urgh! Leave off. They'd laugh, they'd scoff.
And smirk at his torment.
All through his early teens, he hid his manly needs.
A comic he became, he gained their approval by deeds.
All through his early teens, he practised this new role.
Till the girls he met, laughed with him and started to extoll.
You're a nice lad after all.
A lad? A nice lad? Don't talk mad!
And they said yes! A handsome lad.
Take a look at yourself through our eyes and you'll see.
So he looked and he saw and he said.
I do look good, Wheeeeee!
I'm not such an ugly youngster.
And these clothes I wear, I chose.
In fact these birds in so many words said, (gasp) .
The best we know, the best, the best.
The best we know.
Not a frown, don't look down, not a shuffle, not a frown.
But with style, and panache, and a smile to all around.
And a head so noble and high!
Say who's an ugly youngster?
Not I!
Not I!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem