Grey window
Bring napkin; soft cloth
This window with frost
We must wipe to bright
Raya dear
I saw you
You came and
We had talk
I told you of your eyes
"You are lucky, they are nice."
That of course was after
Having heard
Most of all having read
Line by line what you brought
"Saturday's my Birthday"
"For coffee I invite."
You said and I replied.
Montreal, my nephew
He is busy in writing
Formula in machine sees your eyes
Then tells you of your toe
"This is wrong."
I too see
In window of your eye
"Something's wrong."
"Why so sad? "
I meant ask but stopped
Instead I told you:
"Heavenly are your eyes; their color in the sun..."
Flattered you smiled
That was nice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem