"That just reminds me of a yarn," he said;
And look for the body of Lofty Lane
He had a thousand yarns inside his head.
They waited for him, ready with their mirth
And creeping smiles, - then suddenly turned pale,
Grew still, and gazed upon the earth.
They heard no tale. No further word was said.
And with his untold fun,
Half leaning on his gun,
They left him - dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem