A Sunday lunch was set to greet
the stranger, who’d begot with child
an eldest daughter, sweet and mild.
They anxiously desired to meet
the man she hoped would never cheat,
by whom three years she’d been beguiled.
They little spoke, though surface-smiled,
uncertain how they had to treat
the situation, stayed discrete.
The time passed swiftly, nothing riled,
they comfort took, felt reconciled
to facts discussed without deceit.
He left. They felt relaxed, although
still wondered what next year would show.
(21 October 1995)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem