Your voice wore a ‘different dress’ tonight,
One that didn’t sound quite right –
A tender pale-tone shade of blue
That couldn’t keep the tears from shining through.
Prosaics and pleasantries – a thin disguise
Insufficient to hide your water-welled eyes:
Eyes invisible on the end of a phone
Yet not to the one by whom you’re known.
One who cannot bear the thought
Of not being where he knows he ought.
One whose spirit, tho’ with two-left-feet,
Would dance the miles your toes to meet.
One who’s simply marking time…
Until that last damn’ duck’s in line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem