Dear Madame:
my hands may be clean,
too, soft & lush,
and the nail's filed...
(punctiliously) a sissy,
but that doesn't mean
that I can't render craft,
or fashion apt things,
and rather deftly:
knit a sweater...
or even wool-gloves -
which, of course, they
vital in harsh weather.
Winter is coming
and I don't like them cold,
those annoyingly frigid
blue hands,
it makes it hard,
to lift milk cans
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem