There are days where you just sit and wonder what might have been
where wild dreams of boat rides and candle-lit dinners invade
and your mind cant focus on daily tasks
and your hands cant seem to even tie a shoe
There are days where the littlest detail catches your eye
like the way she holds her fork sideways to lick off spaghetti sauce
or the broken tip of her fingernail from working too hard in her yard
or the white streak by the knuckle where a ring usually graces
her finger.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem