At the Warf, he orders a double
Her hand through his hair
He remembers far too well
Oh how, to beat the madness
That clutches his arms
Turning and churning as never before
The eyes that could melt his heart
Are shining too bright
Even as her hand leads him home
That cold January day
Somewhere beyond the whitecaps
The swelling rush of the sea
Her hand remains in his
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem