He sat on the milk ramp waiting for the noon bus
taking him to the village, to pick up a pair of shoes
from the cobbler. It was a hot day in June, he got
drowsy, had been up since five milking the cows;
fell asleep didn’t wake up before the bus returned;
it was then after three.
He had been dreaming of the sea, wanted to be
captain, one day, even though he was near sighted.
“I’ll go to the tomorrow, ” his mother said, gave him
a glass of milk, and two big slices of bread with
blueberry jam on; later, as shadows deepened, he
ran to the outer field to get the cows home
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A pictorial poem describing culture. Nice.