I once knew a woman that
could roll herself into a perfect ball.
She rolled all over town.
It didn't seem that unusual; sad,
but not strange.
Lots of people are all balled up.
I caught glimpses of her face.
It was often expressionless.
She had a flat affect.
Sometimes, she'd come out of her ball,
and smile.
She was gorgeous, educated, and had a
great sense of humor.
But when I'd get too close,
she'd get back into her ball and
roll away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem