Waterside stewpot
Filled brim-full
With tarnished star-spangle,
And honest craft.
Haven of poseur, and tourist,
Week-end freak,
And hungry vendor.
Friend to me
When I feel the need
To sugar-soap
My jaded paintwork.
A place to watch
Water buses
Ply their trade,
Watch the diners
On the restaurant
Float, and eat,
Pick up silver rings,
And influenza among
The crowds,
Munch a macrobiotic snack,
And feel more noble,
Think of one who
Taught me how to fly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem