And they called her Ophelia
But her name was Sue,
Though her serpentine body
Still knocked against the sluice gate
Like a terrible lump of litter.
And on that spring evening
They laid her to rest
In the twinkle of blue lights,
Her chapel a small white tent,
Her mourners buttoned black and curious.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Stug. I'm so glad to have found you - if this is typical of your work. A poignant, evocative piece about a character close to a character dear to my heart. Please read my piece 'Get Thee to a Nunnery..' This is very good. love, Allie xxxxxxx