i'd take him for a walk
bathe him in the sun,
sit and talk
he is quite impolite
tiring shuts me off
cuts me short.
I'd ponder and wonder
the network map of
wrinkled scaly skin
four short legs get him about
short tail and head
fore and aft
if fear or distress
shrinks them in,
to look at him
which way is to and fro
he's helpless on his back
sleeps in his shell,
has no cause for worry
about rent or hell
my garden and a box
will be his domain,
never to complain
nor hiss some refrain
sticks out his head in assent
pulls it back in dissent,
so understanding a companion
we'd get along
his words and ways
make him the sage and
prophet of our age
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem