oh, these tiny little
things
that to you do not
really matter
you wake up early
and then be gone to
that mighty office
that always threatens
you about
a bleak future if nothing
is done
i get this hand of mine
laying flat on my breakfast table
palms against the morning light
landing softly
like a butterfly to a leaf.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem