Sometimes she comes to sit
where silence is generous and
the memories lightly brush by.
This is all that matters now.
I watch her gaze out from under the branches,
and she doesn't ask.
Soon she will confide through giggles,
and glances, a calm voice we share,
as she is certain in her offerings
and sometimes now, as we peek out,
we see a curious being, peeking in.
Sometimes she comes to sit
where silence is generous and
the memories extend,
and now, she too,
will wrap with her arms,
as we pass by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem