Hot or cold,
There's News that's not told:
The giant is eating,
His cold red beet soup,
And the World may burning,
Good morning, to soot,
While our government cheaters,
May think that's mundane,
Only some dirt,
On the World's window pane,
That doesn't affect us,
So nothing we'll do
Till it's really too late
And were burned in the stew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem