after the night of love
the morning is becomes her song
perhaps even a secret hum
inside her heart
at noon
she perfects a symphony
the kitchen sings with her
the spoons and
grindstones and even the
knife and glasses and plates
she whistles to the
stove
in the afternoon
she is ready with a dirge
at night the funeral hymn
begins
it's a drag
towards eternal peace
life is like that
in its quest for perfection
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem