When I was a teenager
I typed my first story
and poems
on a old Rexel typing machine,
that had belonged to my dad
and I had a room
in a garden flat
outside of the house
where my step father
would come to the door
and tell me to stop
wasting my time.
He never read or heard
a single line
and told me
to stop the immature nonsense
and on what he based
his opinion
to this very day
I do not know.
When my first manuscript
was almost published
it came to him
like a shock
and to this day
I wonder if he convinced my mother
to keep that letter from me then.
[Reference: “Daddy please do mercy take and I will no more verses make.” Words by Isaac Watts.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem