She looked up from her book
where she sat on a low stone wall
wrapped in 30-degrees-south sunshine,
when he walked into the garden
with two steaming cups of coffee and cream
and a knee-shaking smile
and they became the short story
that she was reading
and he read her eyes
that glorious morning
that is no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem