He was the king of comedy,
With eccentric tastes to subtle,
For their dull minds and prying eyes.
He was a free wheeling satirist;
An iconoclast; a verbal gymnast;
Who soared like a comet amidst the stars;
Who was like a bomb in a museum
Who would have preferred to keep on gliding;
Rather than beat his broken wings,
Rather than die naked; overdosing on smack.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is too much in present time not knowing whether to accept or not. Nice one