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I have told you
I translate Little Fussbudget's
mails into verses,
haven't I?
For a "thank you,"
she sends me a pie.

I know her well
as I know myself.
I found out that she
keeps her problems
in a shelf,
and she shares them
'cause of generosity.

I didn't want her to suffer,
and she said she wanted it over.

She wants more than her letters'
melancholic words,
and she sent me twenty-five mails--
all in pink envelopes
of damaged hopes.

You said you wanted to read,
didn't you?

When you turn the pages,
you are to flip into her life.
She went through battles,
believe me, with no knife.

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