The baker-man was kneading dough
And whistling softly, sweet and lough.
Yet ever and anon he'd cough
As though his head were coming ough!
"My word!" said he," but this is rough:
This flour is simply awful stough!"
He punched and thumped it through and through,
As all good bakers dough!
" I'd sooner drive," said he " a plough
Than be a baker anyhough!"
Thus spake the baker kneading dough;
But don't let on I told you sough!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem