He walks down the dark alley.
With cars around its like a rally.
One pops in and out of the hut,
With a slice freshly cut.
He sits down where it's nice.
And takes out his pizza slice.
With Rain thundering down.
He quickly checks his mound.
He eats the pizza before he goes.
He won't even scratch his nose
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem