The birds are having their
Own fun
In their theatre above the
Park-
The sun is peering in through
The aperture
As they spread their wings,
As I see you walking across the
Street
Underneath the miracle play of
Airplanes-
From behind I can see that
Your shoulderblades
Are not the same thing as
Angel's wings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem