A Ghostly Scent Poem by Roy Ballard
A Ghostly Scent
Old Widow Smith puts out a trembling hand
and lifts his working shirt, stained with his sweat
that she has cherished here through all these years.
She puts it to her face, not hiding tears
she keeps it free from them but lingering yet
and nowhere else save on these woven strands,
richer by far than ambergris or myrrh
the scent of him brings back her son to her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 9:33:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
