</>Early rising, not with but just after the sun
Comfort of pleasure at the scent of coffee
cooking in the pot
pondering the man with fifty thousand poems-
Fifty Thousand!
When I was eighteen I thought thirty-five might
be the span of my years- Now ten years past,
I've got serious work to do. Fifty Thousand! and ten
years younger than me.
Counting up the little pills: fifty-one left, so there,
I did take one this morning
wondering how something so tiny can
save my life; but they do.... twice a day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem