The Donkey
The coats the folks are throwing down
sure make it hard for me to walk
especially carrying this clown
whose feet are almost to the ground.
'Hosannah King! ' is all the talk,
but this guy seems to be as poor
as I am- no one could mistake
him for a Royal- he's just a fake!
They wave palm branches, and they roar,
but my long ears can hear the real
parade across the city square:
the General, the Priests, the score
of war horses- the whole grand deal.
This pitiful parade will fail
to save a soul, and soon the yell
will change from 'Hail! ' to...'Kill! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem