Queen Street station, Glasgow.
Does she waits an unlikely train?
No. Drawn up, her fine left hand's
Signing to me. She's singing
A song of Wight's children.
I'm so short, perching on the end
Of a red and black bench!
The smooth melody whispers
To the deserted platform:
'I was sobbing my heart out...
I went a long way about...'
Coming near, I'm a poor lover
In a grey lounge suit.
Do i dream? I'm running, i'm running,
I'm running towards my charming statue,
My affected heart wants to drink
All kissings i never gave
All caresses i never got.
There is no more train
For young couples
There is a place for two
In the pink attic of the Guest House.
Christian MERLE
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
how sweet - pink attic... mmmmmmmm! Jen x where do you live Christian?