I no more care about what you think,
Than I choose to do it myself.
That's why I don't understand,
Why you go out of your way...
To give your opinion.
When you'd be better off,
Milking cows on a farm...
And feeding a horse hay.
Or giving me fifty dollars to go away.
And if you should go that far to do that...
You know I would agitate until I got more.
Especially when you open up those French doors,
For business like that?
I'd become atrtached like a mole on your back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem