I took the short cut to the pub
And chanced upon a rough-cut man
With rough-cut hair and rough-cut beard;
He cut a quite pathetic sight.
He had not always been rough cut
With crisp-cut suit and clean-cut looks
He cut the mustard with his peers
But swingeing cuts soon cut him down:
He'd cut a finer figure once
Before the bosses cut his job,
They'd cut his salary to boot:
Those cruel cuts soon cut him deep.
To cut his losses, he cut down
And cut his cloth to fit his means
But even then cost grew too tough:
He cut and ran and so slept rough.
So now, cut off, his clothes in rags
Half-cut with drink, cut to the core,
Harsh cutting looks from passers-by
Can cut him hard, as he begs cash.
They cannot look beyond his looks
But he returns a cutting glance
That shows inside, in gutter's muck
A bright-cut diamond in the rough.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem