Or The Mail Man Poem by Robert Rorabeck
Or The Mail Man
Builders for these castles get their hands wet
And then sculpt the necks of parapets and heron:
They burn around the shoulders
Growing freckles like periwinkles as they step
Over the jelly-fish—
Their mother leaving them to be watched over by
The sea so she could go
Shopping with another man or the mail man—
In its innuendo the sun will burn,
The cloud with disappear—and the birds will turn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 1:26:53 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Why do you always insult your mothers? Do you think that they always do this for their own selfish desire? She may want to feed you who is being watched by the sea. Bret! I started reading the South American history again - but through the different angle. Thank you for sharing the truth...