There once was a man in the city,
many did say he was witty,
forced to leave home,
packed his pen and his comb,
never asking of none for their pity.
There are poems under construction,
Unfinished due to destruction,
not much time for them now,
but when life will allow,
I'll resume if I find some instruction.
© 2013 L.K.Sorrows
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem