Be the hero, the one that saved the world before breakfast twenty-four seasons ago.
The lunch time millionaire who sold his bread in crumbs and made a fortune in an hour can be you.
If its pity you want, I can brew it like fine Sunday evening tea and serve it in priceless china with affirmations.
The victor and the victim can be crafted and placed by dinner time. It will go well with blue wine and green eyed monsters, under the lilt of Masai music.
Whatever you want, we can spin and twist the truth, as long as you tell me what you really want. I can always paint it grey if it is not white or black.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem