He did love three things in this world:
Choir chants at vespers, albino peacocks,
And worn, weathered maps of America.
And he did not love children crying,
Or tea served with raspberries,
Or woman's hysteria.
...And I was his wife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fantastic flight of imagery and the revelation at the end.