Pain i was dished...
Torment, was i spent.
Torture was i lent...
resentment, was i freely regretted.
These are ingredients of a well pained life...
Baked with many years of well ripened strife.
This stale, unsweetened cookie was hardened stiff..
It was indigestible with an accompaniment odor to sniff.
A life, really crummy...
Meted out, by some, idiotic, dummy.
Always, were they swearing...
Constantly, never caring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem