I lowered my chin down
This morning on the rye
From being set too tall
Stopped repeating how you said
You wrote those love songs
About me
I always tried to match the details
To where they might fit
Stopped dreaming you still dreamt about it
Starting telling myself
How you stopped writing a long,
Long time ago
Like when you’re trying to fall asleep
Or when your mind wanders off
I’m beginning to think
You never really thought these things
In the first place
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem