Of what real good is a Doormat?
Does it point out to one's station?
Does it herald in a season?
Or is it just for decoration?
People walk all over it,
It's always best ignored;
It's dusty, used and tattered,
You always see it floored.
But a Doormat has its uses,
Revenge can be so sweet;
Fate has a tricky way of pulling,
the rug beneath your feet...
©
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I would like to translate this poem