Can you remember
when you were, oh, five,
and something just more perfect than
whatever that word meant then
and more delightful than
delight
just made you squirm, it was so - well, that? just - right?
today I squirmed
and I'm great-grandfather's age.
I wonder how many others there are
around the fountain of life
squirming with delight
like a wriggly mass of
white
cherubic
maggots
at poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Here's another gem I've somehow missed - another delight, Michael. You've captured exactly how I feel at times, reading a wonderful poem. Yours are like that. Hugs, CJ