Oh! He kicked the bucket,
Of course not by the musket,
In a place at the market,
At the cold hands of a machete.
He came to evil
In that place of evil,
Brought there by a weevil,
Quieted by the hands of evil.
Quite a gallery of pity,
He lived a life out of party,
In the glorious cage of aunty…
But still died before a party.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem