Words can be curt, words can be kind
If you cant hear them, they can be signed
Where would we be, without letters to form
Communication apocalypse, would be norm
When writing a story, words need to flow
Chapter by chapter, the characters they grow
A picture is painted by the words we write
Each reader interprets, with a different sight
English is Germanic, to its very core
With French and Latin and a few more
Foreign words get used, in our daily speak
Alfa, Omega, we took them from the Greek
From many a country, words did we take
French croissant, have we learned to bake
Alfresco is Italian, meaning in the open air
Per Capita is Latin, but do we really care
Ole Ole Ole Ole the Irish fans they shout
Our victorious roar, after a few pints of stout
English the mongrel, adapted from many lands
Appreciated in books, by anticipating hands
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem