They’ve said it is not meant to be,
Such a thing is surely doomed.
They’ve said that two and two is three,
Just as everyone knows.
They sigh over our ideas
They reprimand our thoughts
And al, the while, from well meaning tongues
Come do nots, do nots, do nots
If we did all they say to do,
One might never visit Timbuktu.
If they could dictate you and me,
What wondrous things we might never see.
They tell us to keep quiet
They say it’s not our fight
It often makes me wonder:
Are they ever occasionally right?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem