Sunday Morning
J
Jan Oskar Hansen
0
Altın Yaprak
Sunday
The sun vainly warm white
plastic tables.
Sunday closed café.
I wrote my name in a dusty surface.
A nearly empty bus drives by,
inside two old ladies
vacantly looked into a memory.
A child sits on the curb,
plays with her dolls
while the subdued moped
leans against a flaking wall.
The day of rest in Iceland.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş