I'm not going to jump up and down, clapping
That the wicked witch is dead and gone;
I've done enough of living now
To know that other things go on.
Lies that tumble out their mouths
Don't make me move this way or that,
And say some truth had been mixed in;
But I'll not be the judge, of that.
I don't mix affairs with theirs,
For I'm a pissant, on their floor,
And I'm just smart enough to learn,
To pissants, they will close their door.
And I won't lie beneath their feet,
Or exult in their ‘glory’ days;
I'll have no part in what they do-
And lesser still, in what they say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Quiet pondering is wisdom, as is this poem.