I could be your garden lawn,
I'm perpetually half cut.
I could be your hair dryer,
first blowing hot then cold.
I could be your wallpaper,
some say that I'm stuck up.
I could be your breakfast table,
occasionally getting laid.
I seem to be your least favourite book,
always being put down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very witty with an acidic tang at the end.