'Oh, I am in it to win it, '
Says greyhound rounding the track,
Huffing, puffing like steam engine,
Much like coal-fired smoke stack,
Chasing aft a fake bunny
Who runs faster than hound.
Greyhound is never the winner,
Exhausted, returns to his dog pound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem