They used to share their poetry at night
And work together with a common muse,
Their inspiration in the pale moonlight
Producing words and lines to interfuse.
And when the muse was really working with 'em,
Two minds together with a common thought,
They very quickly got into the rhythm
That satisfied the symphony they sought.
They pooled resources underneath the stars,
Would finish off one line and start the next,
And as they synchronised their lah-deh-dahs,
They turned their tender touches into text.
And once they'd got their sonnet in the bag,
Fulfilled, they'd sit and have a well-earned fag.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem