Little White Car Poem by tim woodhouse
Little White Car
Just when I think that I can live without you
I come home early when you're away at work,
Pick my nose, walk into town, meander
And feel the shadows of boredom as they lurk.
Retracing my steps I walk back down the hill
Having shopped without buying with a misdirected will
And see your little white car outside my house
And know that half my day has meaning still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/5/2026 1:41:41 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
