With the pile of books
She thinks
Next year
I won't be a teenager anymore
And after few years
My offspring would come here to read
That I am sure.
O the old sentry
Looks so wearied
And how long
He could stand
And watch the precious Library?
(For Marieta Maglas in gratitude!)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem