I break this brack, a bread of fruit,
A bread too good for the eating.
My wives still make me some sawn ring,
A bagel, or a bangle, or sweet pie so much.
My breakfast needs a bracelet
From the opposition, an angry mob,
Who condemn my family of loaf-eaters;
Their argument survived,
And all I ate was the actual bread
That was baked a dozen times a day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem