Her fiance was a metaphysician
who constantly quizzed her:
Why are we here?
Who are we really?
Is there life after death?
Are there gods
and do they intervene
in our lives?
To which she responded:
That shirt needs ironing;
what shall we have for dinner, dear?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sonny, my kind of poetry, Loved this one. Ian