The spaghetti pot talks
while her fingers walk
on window panes of steam.
Perhaps one day
she won't just pray
but wake outside her dream.
Take a trip to France,
learn the language dance
bonjour and sil vous plait.
Or Italy
where love is free
and passions never sway.
She warms the bread
when she hears his tread
of boot on wooden stair.
Prepares his drink
in a routine blink
and touches up her hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Enjoyable witty verse, thank you