Of Vaccines
Being born in village,
In heart of dust and dirt,
We the kids, were monkeys,
Fast, climbed the trees.
Ate fruits and berries
Unwashed and unclean,
Yet were the healthy pigs.
Then and there, no vaccine
Was around, was received.
Guess hell lives in cities!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very philosophical write, but there is a lot of truth in what you say.
Dear David...I do not consider myself to be in that level and am grateful for your kindness.