When it's cold enough for frost
The old fisherman mends the fence
Leading down to the shore
Confident other jobs can wait
And tourists won't disturb his work
Lying on the floor
It feels cold enough for anything
Frost no exception
In his own world of pain
Not knowing the difference
Without or within
His boots beating the ground
As he fits
After the fall
Silence comes on a darkened night
The moon hidden from the earth
The smell of his last supper
Mouldering next to the stove
His slippers waiting on the cold hearth
Somewhere his wife calls.
She's been gone five years
And he blinks
Expecting death
He hears it again
As the calling of a crow
And he wonders
If she came back
Dressed in black
To sing him to sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem