she cradles the coffee cup,
savoring it’s warmth.
face framed by long silver hair,
shining in the summer sun,
offering forever open ears,
and simple smiles,
as ancient as love itself.
she places a warm wrinkled hand over his,
comforting this lost young soul.
as his worries pour,
the inevitable tears fall,
and she,
eternally prepared,
wipes his face carefully,
with the tissues kept in her purse.
this childless mother to many,
a consul and confidant,
through decades alone,
self taught through pain and trials,
roots of her wisdom,
offers another simple smile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is quite good and understood. I love rhythm and rhyme. But when it comes to prose work, I give due credit as well. This is not great, but its better than good. I give it a 9. The story is well told. GW62