I asked him what,
New York was like.
He said it was crazy.
He said Manhattan,
Would suit me.
How does he know that?
He hasn’t even seen my picture.
What does he think I’m like?
Probably just another,
British tourist.
He said that he’d never,
Travelled much.
So I told him what this
Little island was like.
I turned the dales,
Into a wilderness.
Told him about
The changeable weather.
And advised him,
Never to call football, soccer,
In an Englishman’s presence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem