What do I know about beauty?
said the bum
I don't see beauty where I come from.
I've been lookin'
all over the place
but I can't see it,
not even a trace.
Is it beauty when you're poor?
Then don't give me anymore.
Is it beauty when you're cold?
Then it's beauty I behold.
Is it beauty when you're in pain?
Then take it back. Don't let it remain.
My beauty was taken from me
the minute I turned age three.
My mama died.
My Papa cried.
My Papa died
and then I cried.
What do I know about beauty?
cried the bum.
It must be around
'cause I hear children hum
as they pass me by
on the bench where I lie.
I wonder when I lie and see the sky
if that's where it is?
Then let me die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem