Under the unwavering vigil
of a stone Abraham Lincoln
I kissed my first American girl.
She had hands like kittens
that I wanted to pet, but pet
too much and they scratch a lot.
I saluted Honest Abe and departed,
I didn't know what else to do,
but my tour had left me behind
and I had to catch a bus.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem