My dear friend,
how long has it been
that I have put pen to paper
and transcribed my soul to you?
Do I tell you of sunsets
and sundogs I've seen,
or the Thanksgiving snowstorm
when I spun my car
in the middle of the highway?
Or shall I tell you of
the bejeweled lustiness
of my houseplants that seem
to multiply behind my back?
Would you hear of my backaches
or bellyaches or heartaches,
or how long my hair has grown,
and the color I use now to cover
the gray I so want to hide?
Maybe I should write you
of how my life has changed
since we became friends,
and how I so hope
I have touched yours too.
Perhaps I should tell you
of how we're connected
by some warm bond,
unseen and unbreakable.
Or can I tell you how,
even when I don't write,
I think of you often and fondly,
and hold you dear in my heart?
2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem