I have never been good
At saying “when”
My tea cup always
Spills over
But now
I had enough
When the matches
In Harry’s Inn matchbook run out
I leave
There are thirteen matches left
And tonight, again
You made my cry, so
I lit all the candles in my room
With a different match.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem