(with thanks to the My Fair Lady adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion and a couple of age-old clichés)
Wouldn’t it be loverly
if the rain in Spain could
stay mainly on the plain
and pigs could fly
and wishes were horses
so beggars could ride
and we all had the security
(and freedom from terror)
of a basic income
to cover food, animals, shelter,
basic clothes and utilities
and we had to work our butts off
for extras and luxuries like a lollipop?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem