feather
twirls, swirls,
dances
casting
a small theatre
in the air
before touching
the ground
then swept again
by the wind
sommersaults
slides
before taking
another trip
of its wayward dance
evoking hope
in this solitary trip i make
to be a poet
where i give myself up
to the world
trails with the wind
twirls, swirls,
sommersaults
with words
into every man's heart
inspired by:
Hope is the thing with feather —
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.
Emily Dickinson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
never try and copy the masters and is a bad practise allso it insults them just read them, do your haiku dont become like the boring people we have in the forum trying to be poets, trying to be academics they are full of themselves just be yourself john Allan James Saywell