Godfather Poem by Nick Burbridge
Godfather
Iain, you should go.
Get on the damn plane
and hawk in over the
mountains of Switzerland.
Take a taxi and start
spouting French;
Trip up the steps
hammer the doorbell
and when they stand back
gasping walk in
and kiss his wife
with a maniacal grin.
You want to see his new son.
Make a mark on his world.
Be the first friend who left
everything to play with him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 4:03:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
