I have had two friends.
One picked and packed cotton,
The other smelted and smashed iron.
The cotton packs were brought to the hospitals.
The iron molded into knife was owned by a
butcher.
Last night, my friend, the cotton picker,
was attacked by a lion which had escaped from the zoo
on his way home.
The butcher, on his way home, too,
came with the knife and stabbed the lion
to save my friend.
My other friend, the iron smith,
was found dead this morning
Smothered with cotton
at a dark part of a street
near the hind gate
of a hospital.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fine poem with a moral. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.