I would think
by the look on her face
we are approaching
the halfway point
of this long, push-chair-pushing hill.
My young mother, laden
with bags that hang from
my tubular bars,
aims blown kisses
to my small pink face.
My elder sister
(by one year) , walks,
clutching the handle;
adding weight
to the already
massive task.
At the top, my mother stops
and sucks in the rising fumes
of a now distant city...
and it is here, right here,
I vow to love her
until death...
and I did!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Expertly done man. you are a true poet. this is the kind of poetry i love to read. =)