Before The Postman Calls Poem by Ben Owens
Before The Postman Calls
At the table I sit
drinking my green tea
from a stolen expresso
cup.
The tea bag floats
ever so gently in
the center of the
tea.
Extruding a soft green
colour to the pristine water
and, through the vapor,
rises up.
Car horns outside are
dancing with the piano notes
waltzing from my radio in
great glee.
Good morning.
What are we to do today,
I wonder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 5:29:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Ben, love the imagery...especially the description captured in the 4th stanza. To me it appears you have a latent gift. Don't waste it! Cheers!