At breakfast with friend of deep degree
Our waitress of great beauty and work energy
We spoke of Maughan and Hemingway and literary styles
of present and of past
In illustrating the power of contemporary thrust
The pejorative “wench” surfaced in our talk
I said nothing but was shocked
Her care of us at table superb
My heart towards her had more than a little locked,
And “wench” or no to me she was not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem