Hilarious insults are so rare
in my hometown, where genes are pure
the word is out that we don't share
nor want an everlasting cure
but funny thing, there is one kind
of misfits whom you see around
they stir up trouble and they find
whatever slime lives on the ground.
They use the crud to whet their lips
and wonder why no human smiles
and if you want some special tips
you'd be so smart to travel miles
and stay away from sloughed-off tissue
even the Gods discard this scum
they do not see a real issue
they understand: Their time has come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, I like this one Herbert. A ten from me.