Will you buy me a cottage,
where the windows and doors lead to my dreams,
where the highest room feasts on my regrets like a junkie.
Will the walls be painted or papered,
in every shade of white and beige.
And forgive me for saying but the garden is really quite small.
I will sit under the trees overlooking the flowers and the bees,
in the stomach of my cottage,
where i long, where I'll live.
And I ask for no fancy disoray of
diamonds and shoes,
just my cottage where i can hang
my coat and ladies things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem