Two silhouettes standing by the Christmas tree, playing
saxophones.
Full of rhythm, sounding great, sitting back to listen,
taking a break from typing.
Two silhouettes have grown up quite a bit, remembering
when they were not too long ago, baby silhouettes crawling
around on the floor under the Christmas tree.
Enjoying immensely, their private concert, I sit back,
listening intently, amazed, because the two silhouettes
are my own sons.
(3: 11 p.m. - 12/31/90)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem