When you are sick-
-Do you get worse and die and go to health? ...
Do you leave behind, all of your wealth?
Every day does someone die? ...
On those days does someone lie?
Is there a bright light at the end of the tunnel? ...
Is it boring ad not real funnel?
Do you wish you could shoot everyone with a sub-machine gunnel? ...
Don't you wish that this poem would be finished as donell?
But in life we must suffer as we go along to clumsily stumble...
Then, in the end, we are dumbly in trouble.
Too bad i have'nt shaved lately and have many a stubble...
The money i now make, it's amount, really should double.
Nothing much in this universe can be seen by a telescope named the Space Hubbel...
Too bad it already crashed, and then it was flattenly mashed.
Now it lay wasted and forlornly ashen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem