Betty didn't came to her own wake
said she had other things to do
Didn't share that news with the mourners
she hadn't heard of her own demise
Wretched wet warm summers
clouds of turpentine
Going to see the river man
and tell of her past travails
Betty is wading in the bay
without a word to say
unaware she be missed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem