There once was a man quite content
he was well past his latter day Lent,
he imagined his life
as a single edged knife
when one day he was stopped by a scent.
Inner sensors reported the news
to the brain, which was soaking up booze.
Will you look at this then
it's a definite TEN
and it looked at you silly recluse.
It was sad but he walked to the Pub
thus foregoing a cognizant rub.
She was gone from his view
and it could have been YOU,
would you give your own spirit the snub?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem