The problem child,
blatant disregard for lines
prognosis: dreamer,
intolerance for
personal space,
Chef Remy tugging at split ends.
Like many an accident,
unknowingly a world to many.
Hard hat on a swivel, the other circumcised.
No mountain no valley no problem,
baby Pickles and toy screwdriver by the hip,
adventures hidden, beyond his yellow plastic gate.
5.7 pounds at 8.24 am on February 24th,
Young Simba the predestined king,
three is company.
Radiance blankets him,
once ecstatic for stampeding lights, now anything,
for peace at night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Alex K. You may like to read my poem, Love And. Thank you.