I am a folksinger
sitting in the rain,
playing my guitar,
very much in pain.
Nobody's listening,
nobody cares.
Someone took the table,
leaving broken chairs.
I am a failing busker.
And I love it so.
I am myself, and that's
all I know.
Nobody's listening,
they all turn away.
They look like hollow barns
that hold no hay.
hans ostrom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem