the sun was a weak and sick child
the black cloud kept him covered
birds did not hear the sun
my artery cried for a stroke-fun
it started with a slice of lemon
that made morning travelers thirsted for more.
I was looking for the groundhog's home
snow was a white blanket covered all
darker sky was still a victor
the land was frozen into icy rock
crushed the hogs in the ground
he never told her how sad was the sun
blasting wind walked through me numb
devils stole my groundhogs for bekons.
they ate the sun, sunny side up
I drove my ditch into your witch-syrup.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem