In Valletta
the sun shines
and it be afternoon.
In Valletta
I walk slow and think
heavily.
In Valletta
I see a father hold
the hands of his boy
the young blond boy
In Valletta
I heard the violin-player
play
play
in to the light of sun
And
there were words not
music just
for me.
And
I walked, trudged, walked
sadly
sadly.
And
continued playing the sad
violin
And I felt sad
and sad
though no sun was setting
though people were walking
everywhere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem