A consolation, if third-rated,
The tepid f-ing every night,
Yes, occupation very dated.
But still you strive with all your might...
... Not lesser might is Nature striving,
To bless your marriage with... but whom?
A pride of kids, all hungry, crying.
Go back to work, your earthly doom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem