A retired person who collects his pension
At the end of the month.
Buy few flowers and candles
Go to the cemetery.
Keep the flowers on the tomb of his wife
And light few candles in the wind.
He prays with tears and opens his wallet.
Take out a photograph and kiss.
Then put it inside before he leaves.
I noticed he comes here in every month
And the month of April is already vanished.
But there is no more trace of him.
I am sure that he too goes and
Adjoin the mysterious myriad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very touching and memorable write. In life and in death, those two faithful souls know a song that they can sing together. Kind regards, Sandra