And you will not know what set it off.
A smell, a movement in the brush,
you don't know, but there he goes,
and you begin the long list of tasks you must
perform when he takes off.
Calling him sweetly, waiting patiently,
then turning foul as hours pass and you see no sign.
You told yourself you could weather this storm
But in fact you cannot, and you stomp around
cursing his name and his pedigree,
so ungrateful for all the things you do
so disobedient in the face of your goodness.
You are practically weeping when he ambles back to you
And you know you are not even entitled to ask
where he has been, what he has been up to,
It is the mystery of the relationship,
and all you can do is sigh and let him
slide into the back seat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yup, just beautiful.