The local market, New Year's Eve
employees' eyes on early leave,
a customer with Trojan smile
stood in the corner for a while.
At last he said 'you buy white bread
soon in the New Year you'll be dead.'
He had a point, of course, at that
white bread will make your liver fat
and is devoid of real food
what man does need is rather crude,
and unrefined and without tamper.
I like the great Australian Damper.
I told him, as I turned to go
'I am aware and really know,
but mother said to bring home bread
it's all, they had, and looks quite dead.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem