After walking several miles along a track,
we reached a cosy restaurant near a stream.
The portly landlord specialised in being rude.
His daughter on the other hand,
gave us a dozen smiles,
and the cook, her mother,
asked anxiously if we'd enjoyed our food.
We said we had, remembering later on
how this lost place had been a slice
of nice and nasty - mean and kind:
someone who seemed keen to make life worse
while others tried to make things turn out fine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem