Why must it be so impossible to dine,
When it costs three-hundred and forty nine,
To walk outside,
Both wet and dry.
With only shoes,
Gathered news,
That drags you feet over feet,
Tripping you four cluckings over the beef.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
maturity is seen in the poem and style. thanks for sharing. shan