The colors flash vibrantly. Once in a while.
My rusty arms rotate. Slowly.
I constantly need some rust repair to work.
I can work.
Sometimes.
'I promise I can! ' I cry....
'Your time is almost up' says the Big Brother....
'But why? I'm still functioning...somtimes....
somewhat...'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem