Wonder what she knows:
Whether she hears what we hear,
Sees what we see,
[Though I was once told
She sees whatever she sees
Only in monochrome tones].
If so,
Pity God couldn’t have spent
A bit more time and effort
On the Best Friend known to Man:
His Name’s all too easy, three-letter anagram.
Still maybe she smells in colour instead:
A spectrum of fragrance filling her head.
Whatever it is, we’ll never know
So I’ll just think it is just so.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tony, I'm sure Minty would give this the paw of approval! Rgds, Ivan