Nobody knows her age, or dares to ask.
A L'Oréal helmet;
contours of a sylph.
She sells greetings cards.
Enter, and she winches
you from Time's River Jordan.
Your life is here, neatly arranged:
BIRTH. EXAMS. GET WELL SOON.
When you offer CONDOLENCES
she cups her hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem