He climbed to the top of the wardrobe,
Called out 'GERONIMO! '
And threw himself towards his wife
Who lay in wait below.
But he didn't have his glasses on
And couldn't see the way
And landed half a meter
From where she, hopeful, lay.
The mattress it was springy
And he shot back in the air
And landed on the carpet,
Broke the dressing table chair.
And that's not all he damaged
And he let out such a yell,
His wife ran to the telephone,
Gave 999 a bell.
The doctor came, he calmed her down,
Saw how this had upset her,
Then and said to him with a doctor's frown,
'At your age you ought to know better'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem