It was a good day the poet thought as he walked thru the park.
He sat down on the bench, with achy knees he rubbed them.
He looked down and saw a snake, startled by his discovery he jumped on the bench.
The snake continued to slither closer, closer to the bench.
The poet spoke with a foreign tongue.
He cursed the snake for scaring him.
The snake raises up as if to strike.
Slow and calculated was the snakes movements.
The poet, frightened held his heart in pain, and dies on the park bench.
The snake looked puzzled, hissed and said 'I just wanted directions.'
and slithered away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You held my attention to the very end. I like this. And a good lesson is contained in your poem...... don't assume the worst and don't let fear be your guide. Good job.