she woke up with
the taste of stale bread
this morning.
her green curtains look
grey.
the phone rings twice,
no answer.
shes in the back,
tending the garden
of daisies and dandylions.
she wont cant see the gold
that shes sitting on.
perhaps she'll get up,
at leave it.
panic.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem