You look like hell.
'What gave me away?
Was it the horns?
The color of my deep tan?
Or was it the heat,
Still singeing my tail?
Releasing the smoke,
I believed had cloaked my identity.'
No.
Not really.
You look exhausted.
Probably from not getting enough sleep.
And keeping late hours,
In your attempts to be everywhere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem