More winters or just this one.
—Horace
The Hydra-headed father of the nation looks like the day you meet him. He is sick to his lobbies, his airports swell but he'll survive a bout of motleyness.
He uncled many nomads and expellies who disguise their true navels with raggery. His second ugliest head is heavy-jawed about it.
According to The Hades News, he has inherited a little acre in Tartarus. This gives him a hellish pleasure, but claiming his fortune for him, being immortal, can prove difficult. Still, history keeps trying until it succeeds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem