I DON'T like beetles, tho' I'm sure they're very good,
I don't like porridge, tho' my Nanna says I should;
I don't like the cistern in the attic where I play,
And the funny noise the bath makes when the water
runs away.
I don't like the feeling when my gloves are made of
silk,
And that dreadful slimy skinny stuff on top of hot
milk;
I don't like tigers, not even in a book,
And, I know it's very naughty, but I don't like
Cook!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem