The book I read
to her
back in the summer
of then
when she was ten
She now reads
to her own little boy.
“This book
was always your voice.”
“I can only hear it
in your voice.”
”How I clung
to every word
every pause! ”
You were
such a nice man.
You made me like men.
I didn’t ‘til then.
I laugh.
Listen to her read
to her little boy
in my voice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Odd, isn't it, the things that trigger our memories...to read a book aloud to my children and now, my grandchildren...is one of the joys of my life...for they are the same ones read to me, and I can hear my mother's and father's voices still..