With the yapping Corgi puppy walked
daughter safely on an Oklahoma Indian reservation
wife heating up hot shower pipes
I can at last do
what even my ailing body has denied
write.
So, to you dear Saint Helen,
patron saint of a poet out of favor,
may the Great Other bless you
for your reading eyes of extant work.
Friendship
tea
offering to pick up the tab at lunch
education on food
wise medical counsel
use of your first rate lap pool
for all these blessings bestowed
here where we struggle
thank you.
I can only hope
to be ahead of the pack
that some fierce truth
is occasionally spoken,
that my spell checker
will not betray the poverty of my spelling,
and that
with your wonderful husband watching,
we will yet water walk again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you, my dear Bard.