We suppose that one cannot be both poor and peculiar,
If such a standard is wealth,
But we'll try anyway,
As one transcendent idea is better than a few modest ones
So there exists this family,
Which cries both wolf and poverty,
Creating a false narrative, speaking to imaginary people, hearing improbable thoughts
Nothing to believe in them except their exclusion in the upper crust
So, in the end, all the playacting leads nowhere,
As they are too flush to be considered poor, fall well short of being considered well-off, and are too calculating to be daft
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem