The poet is a lonely heart
A beggar with a clue
A pauper with a portly point of view
He joins the feast without a beast
To pick a bone or two
And yet his plate is full when he is through.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yo! Ho! Bryan, Pauper, beggar, bone or two, yes tis true, we poets have to claw for food! A lot to digest on this plate you whipped up. Grest write!
Thank you, Captain Cur. So nice to hear from you again. Happy sailing!