Ding, ding, ding!
You're correct; you get that point!
Again. You're always right.
I am ever tired of the sight.
You point at my flaws
With your hawk eyes
Swooping low, watching for prey.
What is it that makes me stay?
Your cunning demeanor
Or perhaps charming smile?
I can't let it get to me
If I ever wish to flee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem