As I waited at a junction,
another driver nipped in front.
Unwisely, I had left a gap
between my van and the lights.
When red changed to green,
I quickly overtook him,
and with my window lowered,
raised a single, telling finger.
He was a priest...
So, you're the one who has the Bird, that didn't fly south for the winter! Good Stuff...Succinctly solid! FjR
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
lol i hope that didn't really happen