Sitting at an old deal table she writes and writes and writes
the kids upstairs a sleep and she's abandoned to this cold place
and she writes and writes and writes
and then she doesn't and abandons the type writer.
no more poetry no more thoughts only blackness
a note to whom it may concern
note to the milkman no milk today
she puts the pen down
so this she thinks is the end of the road.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem