I walk along my
Grandfather's farm
In Michigan-
My mother's home
So unlike my own-
Chickens singing
For the reaper-
Cows mooing in
Concentration camp
Love-
Pigs snoring
Because they're
Always sleeping-
'It's a lot of work'
My Grandfather says
As he takes a sip of
His whiskey bottle
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love it when a different world comes to the page like this as it reminds me there are other ways of life as I dwell in my little terraced house in a suburb of London.....come and read my poems about London ;)