Harvey at 80
is losing his hearing.
He can’t hear his wife
when she talks,
a symphony lost.
But at dusk
in the garden
alone in a lawn chair
with a glass of iced tea
cubes circling
Harvey can hear
the whippoorwill ask
and the cricket reply
and that’s all the truth
that he needs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem