There are those who will always stoop low
as they're smarting still from the last blow.
Fabrication? It suits
walk in somebody's boots?
Not for those quite unable to grow.
It is boring to read such old crap
one would need a Sat-Nav or a map,
but so many i.d.'s
matching names as you please
and unlimited hours on tap.
But I thank the small member of course,
for his whipping a tired old horse.
It's the legend of Wales
quite unfit to tell tales
only morons could really endorse.
I should ask my dear God why he blessed
only some, why the rest are hard-pressed,
and must strive to play clown
cut the tall poppies down
while succeeding in soiling their nest.
It is envy that drives so much hate,
if you can't follow facts or debate
you must stay with the herd
loathing every nerd,
but your label says dull featherweight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem