Arlo Guthrie was a folksinger
who never changed his tune.
Playing fast with a zinger,
looking like a bit of a loon.
Kind of liked his downhome
act as he twanged songs
of grits and cornpone.
Bitching about the wrongs
done to dirt-poor croppers
and workers on the lines
by fat cats and the coppers
as they took gold from mines.
Arlo's day is done.
None too soon, I think.
Hell, he wasn't no fun.
Some even say, he stunk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem