In the bath I saw two nuns
who had four delicious buns.
I was perched up on a ledge
listened as they talked of pledge
when they washed with liquid soap
I decided there was hope
crawled inside in total silence
out of inner lust for violence.
Screams were heard and I was caught
all the trouble was for naught
in the jail I learned to pray
had received a lengthy stay.
And on Sundays, they would pass
first the preachers and the brass
then the nuns buns under cover
well observed by me, who'd hover
on the jail cell's narrow ledge
making now a private pledge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I know someone who certainly wouldn't sue you if you snuck a look at her 'buns'. You might know her yourself, actually.: -) 'Cheeky' grins from Gina.