Sometimes I visit the old people
drift round the corner
in the winter light
sit and listen to a talk on Freud
watch a film, black and white
no matter if it's dated
heard it all before
they're always pleased
to see new blood
wake me up with tea at four
fetch my coat
escort me back across the road
strewn with berries
pecked by crows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the dolor of autumn!