Many times over the years,
After I have submitted my depictions...
In poetic description to be critiqued,
A few with their feathers plucked...
Would ask with their thumbs sucked,
From where do I get my 'sing-song' delusions.
And these comments always seem to come from those,
Swinging back and forth with their eyes and minds closed...
Inside the comfort of their gilded cages.
Where they feel free,
To flutter with a flittering around gleefully...
While wearing necklaces made from rhinestones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem