'I am losing the freshness of my garden, '
She said.
Staring at me as she reached for my hand.
And anticipating my response.
'This time of the year,
I would begin to smell my roses bloom.'
I smiled and nodded.
And grateful I was to keep my lips sealed.
Because the bush I thought she referred to...
Began to show signs of drying out,
Long before her admission.
'Do you remember how fragrant it use to be?
With just one sniff I was re-energized.'
~Yep!
I remember my addiction to sniffing that freshness.~
'Would you stop it.
You never helped me with the weeding.'
~You're right.
Especially when you stopped,
Softening up the bed.~
'There you go again...
Not paying me any attention.
I am talking about the sweetness of the fragrance.
And you refer to my leg hairs.'
And grateful I was to keep my lips sealed.
Because the bush I thought she referred to...
Began to show signs of drying out,
Long before her admission.
Leg hairs?
~Oh!
So that's how all my razors,
Lost their sharpness.~
'That's 'almost' funny.
You get no 'hees' but a half of a 'ha' with that one.'
~I'm not complaining.
When am I going to get a piece of that? ~
And she removed her hand...
With a daring look.
As if I wasn't up to the challenge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem