the town
swimming in the sweat,
long legs and short skirts,
of a June heat-wave.
a church bell tolls gloomily
the sadness of one
who will never again
hear the musical dialect
of these streets.
the hearse, its thirst sated,
withdraws as the last 'dong'
fades into the humidity
of our frail grasp on reality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem