It was a beautiful golden day
Now a black split shape
scuttles under
de foot. So long, Sayonara.
The fat cat lays down
dozing. I could use a little rest too
I only slept 11 hours last night,
wrote some letters, swept the floor,
planted 2 rows of onions, snow peas
And now I am looking forward
to washing my hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In some ways it is sad that a diary would record more of these ordinary days than adventurous passionate heart-palpitating days we in our hearts of hearts yearn for yet would truthfully find a bit uncomfortable- especially when our hair needs to be shampooed