inching my way up a hill
truck stop to give ride
she does it often; kind
i lift myself at the back
she knows where am going at
drop off curve beneath light
i wave my hand; happy heart
my stove is waiting for me
still have few blocks of wood
water i catch from rain; enough
my tv is broke, my roof leaks
nobody knows i live like these
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem