though copious amounts of tears were shed
when Kelly and someone fell into bed....
high on the list of indiscretes....
those hours spent beneath the sheets.....
if you have oars, the boats, you'll row 'em....
and I spin, drift....so comes this poem....
no one to blame except myself...
was not writ for fame....nor pelf....
forgive, or not, an awkward allusion...
on blameless parchment..this vain contusion...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem