The disappearance of miss Emilie Devine
Weighed heavy on our broken minds.
She slipped into the punch bowl
And blew a kiss to our troubled souls.
I remember the day she told me
That even in death she’d remember my smile;
How she sold her honey underneath the ferns;
And kept better secrets than the falling leaves.
She always drove backwards down one way streets
And wrote poems on stop signs,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem