Wonderful dreams but come rare,
Sitting on the fork of the Y
The H O L L Y W O O D
Hands behind my head,
Legs dangling in broad day light,
Glares over my eyes,
And a smile that would fit the Grand Canyon,
Soon came a smart police man,
Put your hands behind your head,
You have the right to remain silent,
All I remember is thinking,
My hands are behind my head,
And I have been only silent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem