I had not come to shake the hand
of one of those disgusting bums.
Sleeping in gutters with their paper bags
of cheap Vermouth to lift the spirits.
They smell, these people, badly, too
I'd come because of my own daughter
that altruistic little girl of twenty-nine.
The first I saw and heard was a Jack Russell Terrier,
he barked and growled at me, while guarding
the wine and two or three small treasures,
tied to the wrist of Joe, the wanderer.
We ended up by clearing out the shed
and Joe moved in with little Joe that day.
They stayed four weeks, we did our best
but, in the end, they had to go into the world,
Sometimes it's freedom over all the riches.
I missed that little Joe the very very most.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem