The rain crashes down on the street
Tickles a crushed up tin
Vagrants head for shelter
Flames fly from a battered bin
Hooker on the corner
War paint running
From her ruined face
Curtains twitching
Eyeholes in the lace
The living dead head for the crack den or the gutter
People rush by and mutter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem