You are rich, I was very poor;
you writer, I am a poet;
you blush, as the color of poppies,
I like death and skinny, i Bled.
Not having to worry century,
You live in a huge house;
I f amid grief and trouble
I spend days on straw.
You eat sweet every day,
Pull guilt free,
And you do not rarely lazy
It takes a long time to give nature;
I'm a piece of stale,
From raw water and fresh,
A hundred yards from the attic
Is the need to run known.
Surrounded by a crowd of slaves.
With a formidable despotism eye,
you're fat your Afedron
wipe calico;
I sinful hole
Do not spoil children's fashion
And tail stiff ode,
Though wincing, to tru.
