(all's Well About Time) Poem by Horatiu Stamatin
(all's Well About Time)
A pregnant woman begs me a dollar in Times Square. I thrust my hand in the pocket and I ask her what she can offer me instead. She tells me she will give my name to her child.
Some seven days passed, now I look at her from the other side of the street: she kneels yet, reads a book, her round and brave womb doesn't care of the nearby skyscrapers.
Neither do I of the passing time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/22/2024 11:46:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
