THE PEN: 'Too bad she's saying
there's on place for you
in her heart, today,
the girl with coffe on her lips
that spilled your dream,
your love
among the scattered leaves of autumn
like it's meaning became
obsolete.'
ME: 'Yes,
too bad she'll never see
the hero
I've become.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem