Hunched, hesitant,
She peers into an old diary,
Making copious notes.
Plates rattle in the kitchen.
She calls her to sit down,
Coughing,
Perhaps not long.
My tea's grown cold.
She calls again,
And her grandchild
Comes,
Smiling,
Ready to help the old lady
With Windows and an alien
World.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem