she looks one more time
chimney where wind-bird
tells how fast; where from
now open sky and beyond
an oak tree, she grew with
lying on her trunk, top gone
washer missing cover on lawn
she got good memories of dawn
reading stories, washing; so on
road littered with once treasured
lay in shambles pounded by wind
which we all know well to be friend
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem