(the implied speaker here is a tired editor on the news desk of a newspaper)
'So their truck was in flames
on a bad stretch of highway
and no one got their names -
much too late in the day.
Just a small photograph
and somewhat out of focus,
shot by our freelance staff,
for a nominal bonus.
They were moving somewhere
when they ran out of luck -
all their assets were there,
in the back of that truck.
It was pouring with rain
but nothing could dampen,
bring it all back again,
or change what would happen.
His big hands had found
her head on his chest,
and her arms were around
him under his vest.
Lots of people would fight
but they held to their love,
and there's one ray of light
shining down from above.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem