Vance
He is short as I am
Well-read, kind
Was absent
As friends six of us
Meet in a place
Once a moth
On my mind a question
“Where is Vance?
Why absent? ”
We had talked of his life
“Not caller, nor talker”
He told me.
Introvert, he is an aloof
And isn’t only one
Are many
Sits in dark, watches light
“On EBay...” his note said
“Things are sold”
Most of his kind do suspect;
“They are the Avro’s”
“Museum’s”
Some are good when alone
Handy men among us
Then in den
Curious, I have thought
“What’s the cause? ”
I question.
There’s a root I am sure
What it is, I don’t know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem