There you sit
Erect - your head
Slightly bowed
Long, flaxen hair
Streaming down in gold
Shoulders slightly rounded
Your pose - one of peace
Your smile - one of sorrow
Cigarette smoke
Curling from the cup
Of your hand
You bathe in the serene
Tension of sunset
Right now
A poem is being
Written about you
It is at moments like this,
Oh, if only I were a painter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem