The old rusty gate swings and creaks
the roof on the house is full of leaks
weary stairs moan and complain
and rain comes in the window frame.
The paint on the door is cracked and peeling
to match the wood beams up on the ceiling
the bathroom tap has a irritating drip
and the garden shed is its usual tip.
The once tidy garden is full of weeds
as no one has time to tend its needs
the whole bloody place is falling apart
and I stand and wonder where to start.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem