He saw is face reflected
in the convex of a spoon
and all the rim was indigo
and a curve of silver moon
the little god got maudlin
at the harbour-side bistro
when someone played Susannah
from a corner radio
and deeper into vin rose
verging on tristesse
he reached immortal limits
with American Express
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem