'Each time you've left
I've taken our son's colored chalk
And round your remembered steps
I've drawn outlines on the walk
And then watched them fade
From use or from rain.
'If your tour's extended again,
Don't tell me when you call or text
And I swear I'll not hear by other means,
I'd rather the extra days of hope
As enjoying them won't change the pain.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem