Nostalgic always, often disenchanted,
I feel I am a wine that’s been decanted
and left around to breathe, not being stoppered,
my bouquet fading, bottom left uncoppered,
yet if you’d only drink me with your eyes
you’d find my vintage rocks, and love the role
I try to play, while whispering no lies
as I pass you my world cup, crying “Gol! ”
6/22/06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Bring it on, then! (the show that is) . Neat poem. See you next Thursday. Love, Gina.