'Mosquitoes in August,
then September flies swarm inside.
They've come to savor dinner scraps,
and the cartilage of raw ears.'
~MELVIN DIXON~
The cartilage of raw ears
is served baked in a pie;
Van Gogh might seem surprised
his ears were here and not his eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem