There are long
heatwave days
when nothing happens.
An old man
with pale eyes
in a crumbling head
sits stiffly silent
on a wooden bench
at a wooden table
in a clearing in the woods;
picnicless,
expressionless;
a blank page.
An old soldier
barely alive -
quietly sitting.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem