Can you hear the way she sings
in the half light of night and day?
Do you still remember what she
said the last time you held her
hand? Whatever dreams you had,
now laid to rest, and all you can
say is something about your hands
being clean. Laughing in the
morning light I pretend that the
whispering wind is more than the
ghost of the love that once shared
my bed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a wistfulness about this verse David - - a warm and winsome read...10 Fay