she has been many years dead
yet he kept her picture on the wall
left her rocking chair by the fireside
dressed her bed every morning
and reserved her seat at the dinning table
oftentimes he shops for her favorite fruits
and writes her name on the egg at Christmas
I have heard him call her disconnected number
and smiles on the line for a long time
last night I heard him say:
love never ends with death, it is always
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you for mailing this one to me, Padmore. When I read it I was reduced to tears, it is so poignant. And yet, it is so beautiful. I'm glad to find that you posted it. Love, Fran xx