The Dressmaker
Her fingers are good, she can sew, she can thread.
She has time on her hands, now that her husband is dead.
Lillian Weber is past ninety nine,
she's on her last mission in a race against time.
She makes dresses for young girls that she'll never meet;
colorful frocks for the African heat.
Her goal is one thousand dresses, so fine,
by the day that she'll celebrate for the 100th time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem