There once was a boy with three ears,
he was white and well known to his peers.
To the south side of town
where the pigment was brown..
they could care but a lady brought shears.
It turned out that all manners of style
got the better of folks and their bile.
Never mind the third ear
it is colour we fear
said the one they called homophile.
But the horses, he said, do the same!
It is not the old mare that is lame
but the Gelding that's gray
whom we chased far away
there is nothing we'd look at as shame.
Just this morning I saw a small lad,
he was wearing a pirate's eye pad.
But his smile touched my soul
eyes like hot burning coal,
I will save him or surely go mad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.