He's a different kind of guy,
With a different sort of eye,
The details of which can be overwhelming
Laid bare his sentiments,
Completely naked,
Yet all most people in the street do is stop and point at his size
Shortchanged, a full quarters short of the country bus
What a trip, not yet taken
Where's the city, the one in which he sits pretty,
Pretty well-off if he's far off, and far away
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem