She liked her sausages well done and not too many.
Her plate was full with a whole English Breakfast.
Three at the table with jam marmite, bread and butter.
His eyes narrowed as he saw her uneaten sausage,
Imagined it in a Marmite, clad breaded envelope.
Before his dream was over she gave the Sausage to another.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem