Dear Smith,
My stallion is ready for the grand race and I promised him to buy new shoes.
That should be durable and not fashionable.
I want you to explain my situation dear,
I have a holey wallet in that never remains the colored notes.
My Windmill is very familiar with the racecourse and I am sure he would bring the prize home, this is a humble requirement and invitation from a forgotten old friend.
sincerely,
The lame jockey Surmise.
*Postscript
I hope you still collect the old coins and I have few silver that I can polish for you.My broken door is open at all for my drunkard old friends.
One can read much between the lines of this enigmatic letter. A fascinating story, Nimal. Ten for this. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Insinuations flood this fine poem that shares the wily words of your impoverished and lame jockey. You give the reader a minimum of information to create a maximum of impact. Great work Nimal. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥