The little wooden horse you gave me, when I
came home from hospital.
I watch you through the window, in your smock, planting
a new garden.
It is hot I know, I never tire watching you do some thing
simple like drinking from a glass that was once dark blue now bleached from the sun, into some thing even more Unusual.
You hang the white smock over the small wooden fence, the
dear will come when you leave.
Very beautifully, (but the sixth lines very long, or only You forgot to do the paragraph?)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
just a small thing he says gaping through the window gasping with delight as he watches her plant the flowers the discarded blouse trampled by cloven hoof - the devil you say! -