This ragged hat
with tatters front and rear
has eyes that cannot see
and on its mouth
no lips glisten.
I found it in a cabin
in the spring of ‘68.
It cannot say
so I surmise -
a hobo left it there
next to his gin bottle.
He got it from
a banker gentlemen
for cleaning out his
garbage cans.
A tailor nearly
took it home for his
but settled on a derby.
Once it fell into
the lake and I saved
it from a weedy death.
I hope its next companion
realizes how benign
a world it is
has not yet cast
this hat aside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem