She smiled as we passed her table -
a nod of politeness, rather than recognition.
She was lunching with her husband -
and thinly clad in the summer heat.
She must have been in her eighties,
but remarkably elegant and self-assured.
Her hair was swept up in a messy chignon,
Her voice was cultured without being posh.
She reminded me of mum -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem