Railways are magic and
So is a station platform,
waiting
for your Son to arrive
Trains roll in,
opening their doors,
mixing people that
you watch while standing
and then
There he is,
your hand's up there
in a split second
before you greet and kiss
big boy
@ home you sit
at the table of his childhood
and talk
like men being
Father and
Son
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A warm picture of a grownup relationship I hope to have with my son also. The beginning is especailly nice.