This evening when I return to the hotel
I see in my pigeonhole
Angela's writing
on a yellow envelope.
What excuse will she have for not writing?
Too busy, perhaps,
stirring cauldrons of soup
while the cats dash about licking her calves.
Or don't the cats know enough
to lick at her calves?
Would that I were the cats
and the cats were taller.
five stars ***** for a not-well-disguised sexual innuendo. And I don't think the speaker was alluding to Angela's knees. : ) bri
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Angela' reminds me of a captivating novel I read once: Angela's Ashes. ;) bri