Light grey blue
Walls and ceiling
devoid of anything but
a lone crucifix
on the end wall
stretch back
forming
a long narrow room
lined with beds
behind
icy faded green curtains
it must be cold
everyone stands near
of sits slumped towards
a pot-bellied stove
wearing a travelling coat
and hat or tunic
but for the presence
of two nursing sisters
and the beds
this austere chamber
could pass for
a run down
third class
waiting room
in some remote village.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem