Her family reaches far and wide:
They sing, wake up, and make love; I have a little book
Hidden in the hollow of a sunken ship:
It doesn’t move: it only weeps, and when the rain comes
It weeps some more although almost anyone will be
Less likely to hear it;
And it weeps without her name, the very thing that it is
Weeping for.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem