Your cup sits on the veranda rail
as if we expect you to return.
A glance through the window without fail,
your cup sits. On the veranda rail
this little shrine survived quake and gale,
so long after you to ashes burned.
Your cup sits on the veranda rail—
as if we expect you to return.
© C.D Sinex
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem