An old woman once told me
That she’d met Thomas Hardy
When she was just a nipper.
I confessed myself impressed
By this literary reference,
But could not help but wonder:
“Have you, in your century
Of life, done some other thing
That could be worth mentioning? ”
She frowned and considered me
Before answering slowly,
“I can’t think of anything…”
This was to her seeming satisfaction,
To have her life defined by simple chance;
Not by some personal word or action,
But by only happy happenstance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem