He brushes his nose,
with his toes.
Bites my sisters's,
finger tips.
He enjoys himself wearing crown,
and roams up and down.
He moves right to left being a rat,
and felt he was a gymnast.
He stands still for some time,
and thinks which is the next crime.
I pray for him this day,
that he lives a long way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem