I'm sitting doing nothing, no words will seem to come,
Thinking of so many things, the odd scratch of my bum,
The feeling that I must devour, a dictionary book,
Nowhere to look for such a thing, amongst my paperbacks,
And I know I have to decorate, and paper over cracks,
Until I feel the energy, perhaps I will just relax.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem