I think they should do weather forecasts,
for heavy social-pressure:
who's talking to whom,
and who is under the weather.
It would be much nicer,
under sunny summer skies.
The only time we celebrate,
is when someone dies.
So come on, rouse yourself,
and ease the social chill.
Don't just take a sip,
or dropp the simple pill.
Talk to your neighbour,
tell him or her a yarn.
Just remember -
it's the social cloth we darn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem