Did I say the wrong thing? As I blundered:
The muddy-booted farm boy trampling Wilton
In the best room of the big house, wonders
At the footprints, asking what was it built on?
The trust that led him here amongst these vases,
tapestries and paintings, afraid to breathe
For fear of glances over cold-rimmed glasses
Panicked at the organic, turns to leave,
Muttering excuses to the flock lined walls,
Dizzied by the vacuum of his withdrawal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.