That day was my birthday dear,
I got up and found my hair clung from head to floor;
I scared by this long hair,
Is this any nightmare?
Soon my bulb switched on,
I rushed to the salon;
My chariot rode a bit faster that day,
thinking about the consequences that may;
....in the salon......
My bloom face showed him all the gloom,
He preferred sickles and spades to scissors and blades to trim;
Suddenly a voice woke me up saying good morning,
I looked here and there and understood nothing;
In despair I looked at my hair,
I felt relieved as it was clear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem