hundreds of fathoms deep
she sits morose with a cold stare
none to share.
Memories flash filigreed images.
It’s hard to weep, she subdues a sigh
and runs her shivering fingers
over his garlanded photo.
The void is big, life bigger
ship to be propelled ashore.
Forte she gathers to be at the helm
and marshal the voyage.
she can grieve.
Grief can wait.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem