Well, she’s done it now,
said the neighbors.
Looking out their wndows
as the blizzard intensified,
they witnessed a troubling sight:
Red hibiscus in the dead of winter—
like bleeding patches on the snow.
I understand she likes
the color red.
Why doesn’t she plant, then
poinsettias or nandinas
or even holly?
But Louise (the woman who had “done it now”)
carried pot after pot
of the tropical shrub outside until
she had formed a perfect circle of
crimson—a ring of floral fire.
Next she took a lawn chair and
sat down right in the middle of her handiwork
and appeared to be praying, or weeping.
As the Nor’easter accelerated, the beach umbrella
she had erected toppled
and the garish plants
gradually began to sink into the snow
as did Louise.
The silent witnesses stood frozen
against the window panes.
Framed against the picture windows,
they looked to Louise like family photographs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Sonny! i love this poem! ! very touching write! (10) !