Where the Dicken's are my poems,
They have all simply disappeared.
A whole glutch of utter nonsense,
Some awful and some quite weird.
They were there this morning,
A pile of low brow poetic art.
I will look again to find them,
But I'm beginning to lose heart.
If truly lost I shall revise them,
An oversight to make any poet sad.
But for any reader far far worse,
For I'll rewrite them twice as bad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem