Everyday I come off the bus i see him,
The old man that lives down the street,
He softly whistles a lonesome hymn,
Joining him is a single birds tweet.
He slowly shuffles through his garden,
stops, and places a red rose inches before his feet,
Infront of a stone that reads ' Lilla Darden ',
Then he gazes apon it and takes a seat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh my God what a nice poem, creativity is at work here......10 from me..