Bedraggled, forlorn
Broken idols are rotting
in huddles on the verges.
Shadows now,
Murky brown masks
Bent over, aged
Leaf-veined arms drooping
Somberly.
Spring has sprung
Daffodils head are hung
The Council mow them down
With revulsion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem