A faint image slowly appears
On the gloss paper in the tray
Submerged in its chemical tears
It gently moves this and that way
A photograph slowly takes form
We see before our very eyes
In this small darkroom which is warm
A land of sunshine and blue skies
An old roll of film we'd forgot
Was yielding precious memories
Of a land far away and hot
We were in wistful reveries
Photographs then weren't digital
You had to wait - there was suspense
Lots of patience was critical
But the final joy was immense
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem