At Twickenham Poem by Stephen Brian Brady
At Twickenham
into today's grey sky
the jet-planes fly
come stepping down to Heathrow
and sitting on the wings
do any of them know
just why we're waving
as they glide past us below
they raise their glasses
and some parachute
splash-down
we send out ducks and geese
but these are just for show
they'll guide them down to Richmond
mostly without luggage
bobbing in the murky river's flow
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 4:37:21 AM # 1.0.0.1119
