Dear Mother,
There is no more pain.
For when tomorrow comes,
I'll be on the evening train.
San Quentin is far,
But through the rolling plains,
I'll be coming home for you,
On the evening tain.
Here I am,
Along the road that's main,
Standing here looking at you,
Beside the evening train.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem