My favourite barbershop is shut,
And, reduced to awkward clippers,
My hair endures the cruellest cut.
The barber, now home with pipe and slippers,
Will be amused when he sees the uses I have put
My beard trimmer to.
He'll say "This will not do,
This job is bad by at least two-thirds."
But not exactly in those words.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem