High above a gentle treat.
Maybe when they both sleep.
I'll find a way to sneak.
MOM'S KITCHEN, another peak.
High above a morsel odor.
Me below, just like Dover.
Now's my chance so sublime.
Left alone, a minute all mine.
Chair with looks, mighty far.
A cookie from the Holy jar.
Still warm from the bake.
HANDS FULL, CRIME OF THE TAKE.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely and funny. I can picture the little boy reaching out for the cookie jar.