She had read most of his poems
Must have been six months by now.
An occasional: Sunday morning poem
The kind that even She would frown upon.
A lonesome midnight poem
Colored in blue
When it should have been black.
Strange! What should one do?
Still an’ all, these poems
Were random.
Not enough information
To create his face in her mind.
Topics vary, quite contrary
From needles to anchors
A few rusty nails between
No blood, some love.
Rather pointless really,
All this poem reading,
Indeed, adding to her
Own confusion.
Then: without warning
One morning
Beneath her poem
Titled “Lost Love”.
She read these words he had said.
“Been a fan of yours for quite some time,
Some lost love found in you.”
(Calac)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'been a fan of yours...', i like your style. that's unusual of me.