I've seen his face a thousand times.
Known him for quite awhile.
I've been his enemy and his friend.
I wonder when I started to care.
So solitary, shy and quiet.
Never talked unless he had to.
Almost everyday I would see him go.
Unlike others he kept his head low.
As I sat there I tried to make his face appear on the page.
A thousand times I tried a thousand I failed.
The only way to draw him was with his back to me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem