We've just received an email
from our daughter.
who suddenly went off to Guatemala
with a nice young man she hardly knows at all
on some exotic Mayan trail.
She's in San Pedro de la Laguna -
a lovely spot, they say - where tourists
(so the Lonely Planet web-page tells us)
have been attacked quite recently.
We suffer, as my parents must have done
when I bummed my way round Mexico
with bushy hair and jeans and plastic beads,
embarrassingly long ago.
History, then, seems to repeat itself,
down generations which are keen for change.
The only major difference seems to be
that this time round WE lose the sleep!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem