Your face, it reminds me, of a puddle
Of gravel I passed yesterday that half
Covered a lone glove with a tattered
Ring finger, and lay, a faded blue flag
And I wonder on those cold dark nights
Will this flag be seen, will that tattered
Gaze you cast this way be visible or will it
Be passed by for lack of a matched pair and
It wasn’t the blue, the tattered, or even
The ring finger that caused me to picture
That blue glove, but the fact that somewhere
Someone, something, is desperately alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
touching, Paynter, touching. need i say more. Actually, can you do a scarf next, cause i lost a beige one the other nite. Goldy