Evening air envelops the garden,
A misty blanket of hail and drizzle,
As the winds balloon through the curtains,
Amidst the distending shower, little by little.
You work in the kitchen, frying pan in hand,
While we dash through the rain, oblivious,
That you still have work to attend,
We found your contentment, surreally mysterious.
A myna sings in the distant, unaware,
As you work and work, between grins and laughter,
The evensong decrepit to your euphoric flair,
Where duty comes first and self-love flies after.
Your love, your care and your devotion flourish,
As the rain, ever increasing, forges a memento,
And we look to you as our happiness and courage,
Even when the rain, matures in a crescendo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem