He ordered one for the road.
This was his custom,
Right after the moon shifted
Above the old farm town.
Feeling a flow of wisdom,
He muttered:
'I don't know much
But I do know this:
A man is bound for life
If he's ignorant of
The language
His oppressors speak.'
He tapped the counter
With a knuckle,
After draining the tumbler dry;
Glanced, again, at the lady
Seated in the far corner
Then hurriedly slipped
Through the side door.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem