A Capitalist, a Socialist and a Poet
Capitalist: What profit's there to be made?
Socialist: And how the workers will get paid?
Poet: Forget potatoes and your stocks,
The beauty's in the shining locks
Of my sweet darling-there she is-
An angel gliding through the breeze.
Capitalist: That's fine and dandy. What's the price
Of that sweet bosom and those eyes?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem