the old man limps
cane in hand
remembering Normandy in
each step
keeping to the right on
the walkway
leaving room for
his wife
who passed ten years earlier
her ghost gracing his
lonely left hand
firmly gripping the hand
that held onto her soul
as long as he could
until the soul won.
sit, friend, sit
but he walks
shuffling along
reliving in every step
the greatest love story
no one
will ever know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem