Such were your eyes in spark you could
not know then now as you do.
Fierce face of youth in children the photos
yellow now one in three gone as you.
Paced white blanched narrow wood now a path
I hurry to what....a sad ending happy yes happy
the bones of comforts dust as musky as memories
I have shed as winters rook wanting more than is in
the shinny button years of fear that you have grown impatient
with me this old coward of one hundred and seven you have
come back again and are again a mother of three.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem