You read a page and turn it slow
And keep your mind upon it.
But your mind drifts and soon you know
Your focus was never on it.
You turn one page and read the next
And the words cannot get through.
And all because you’ve thought about him,
Now what do you do?
You close the book, but bookmark the page
And try again tomorrow.
You find the page and begin again
And a little time you borrow.
Best to put the book away
And try another diversion.
You listen to music, Bach or Brahms
Or maybe just to Gershwin.
What difference does it make to him?
He knows nothing about it.
He’s reading book after book each day.
Does he know you don’t? I doubt it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem