Up to your knees in them,
could you save me some
an once, or two perhaps.
It is fun, they don't come out
in the wash, yet you grow so
fond of memories cherished
to grasp.
The walrus with his broken tusk
for you.
Stir the pot, with spice and you to
taste and take for lunch to share
with friends, who know you care.
Oceans of my brains an once or two,
easy or the ink will drip into the grey.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem