This is the city to walk around in the rain 
Staring at the barges in the harbor 
And to hum songs through the night. 
The city has countless streets 
Bustling with people running around... 
The waitress who brings me my tea every evening 
And whom I like a lot although she's a White Russian 
Is in this city. 
The old pianist who turns around 
To look at me 
When he sneaks in pieces by Schumann and Brahms 
While playing waltzes and foxtrot 
Is also in this city. 
The ferry boats that caryy passengers 
To the village where I was born are in this city. 
So are my memories, 
All those I love, 
And the graves of my loved ones. 
This is the city where I have a job, 
Where I earn my bread money. 
And yet, in spite of all this, 
This is the same city I'm leaving 
Because of a woman 
In another city.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem