As I strolled by to kill some time
Monroe lay poised on show
A tiger’s eyes leaped out at mine
All posters in a row
His corner wept a silent cry
With lack of hope or will
Though I had not yet spoke with him
I felt his sorrow still
Now staring at the pictures
Hanging one by one in line
His soul reflected image
Weighed so heavy on my mind
As Gustav Klimt’s two lovers kissed
Their hearts with joy did fill
A lonely voice inside me cried
‘You feel his sorrow still’.
He clutched his magazines for sale
Some softened by the rain
There was no hard sell in his speech
Just withered silent pain.
I turned to meet his old young eyes
And gave what change I had
A half creased smile came from his lips
And looked so very glad
I think about him often now
And sometimes feel a chill
As years pass by I know that I
Will feel his sorrow still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your mind painted a picture of sorrow. How fortunate you are to be gifted with the ability to care so deeply. You have given the magazine seller the dignity that his situation deserved.10 for both of you. Warm regards, Sandra