I HEARD the old man scoldin' yesterday
Because your spellin' didn't suit him quite;
He said you'd better go to school at night,
And you was rattled when he turned away;
You had to tear the letter up and write
It all again, and when nobody seen
I went and dented in his hat for spite:
That's what he got for treatin' you so mean.
I wish that you typewrote for me and we
Was far off on an island, all alone;
I'd fix a place up under some nice tree,
And every time your fingers struck a key
I'd grab your hands and hold them in my own,
And any way you spelt would do for me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem