Find solace
in metal
Forget skin
Sit in worn chair
Clear away the tea things
Brush crumbs from the table
You wanted this real bad
With money from
The pillaged tin
When you were a lad
But somehow
The colours are
Unbrightened
By the bookend years
This red dial
Less red now
Look
Not as red as
The red dress
The red
you remember best
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem