He was into art,
Vegetarian cuisine,
He loved architecture,
And living the dream.
To him some people were flowers,
Others were weeds,
He loved certain children,
And did dire dirty deeds.
He was optimistic,
But he didn't like banks,
Didn't like Russia,
But he was always fond of tanks.
Not known for being shallow,
Rather known for depth,
But his heart was hollow,
And everything he touched... turned to death.
He got his signals crossed.
That's the best you can say,
Or he might have been possessed,
With ALL HELL to pay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem, but who is it, nawt