In my seventh day since I last baked,
on the Barrier Reef up North Downunder
I'm topping up
in the weak sun of South the same.
First four days after that,
in a car I sat.
Next two were rainy and cold.
I'm sort of pinky-gold.
If you've one word for that,
like there's one for bluey-purple:
1. Ask me for my number
then dial it,
2. Call my PH Message Box a vial,
and vial it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem