After you stepped outside, and closed the door,
To leave this room, in starkly grey and black,
The question asked, as pending on the floor,
Is whether when, or if, you will be back;
This tryst adjourns in friendship, love unsaid,
Afraid to be exposed to pillory,
Abuse of privilege would have it paid,
To win in such a Pyrrhic victory;
Someday, if you would close the door again,
While coming in to cast the past away,
You will not be required then to explain,
Why, after all, you have returned to stay;
……Behind you, bridges will not come to burn,
……My iron gates have not yet learned to spurn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is my latest sonnet todate.