YOUR kettle goes off,
but its a false disaster,
a flickering little smoke,
and a light, sitting at the
craters edge,
smitten,
bemused,
despoiled,
and standing behind a
shadow, a peasant king.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Disasters are always best recieved as FALSE....Nice work, DAVID'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''FJR