The gull fiys across a field
as the rain falls.
A crow moves thruogh the grass
like an undertaker in a crowd
as the day begins.
In the gray city streets
gray city poeple move.
Within the rhythm of ther day.
To the rhythm of the rain
and the pain of being alone.
The gull crys
as the crow flys to roast.
Spreading black wings
as night falls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Roy, This poem reminds me of when I was 17, and took a trip to New York City-the greyness, seeing a busload of zombies blur by, no expression on their faces-what I like in particular with your City Day is the line, A crow moves through the grass like and undertaker in a crowd....Good one. Phillip