I`ve been listening to artisans
In the rain.
On a dry May spring
Nght.
The air is chilled, and the wine not
Conversations of plebians.
In a small town of nowhere.
Still, we strive to be
Important to somebody.
Artisans in the rain.
Don`t tell us, we need our pain.
We are striving for,
All but nobody,
Hears the call.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem