Slowly it flows onto my canvas
A trickle in a myriad hues
Of yellow and orange among the blues
Purple, violet, pink and indigo.
Just like the colours, time runs slow.
As the sun is sinking in the West
The colours change and so it seems
To create a landscape fit for all my dreams
But can I capture it before
The darkness closes up the door.
On my palette many shades of green
For trees that will soon disappear
Like the man, a shade I do not fear.
Just a glimpse of him in silhouette
Then he is gone, my paint still wet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the slow rhymic reading of this poem especially in the first stanza. It fits in nicely with 'trickle' in a myriad hues. The beginning word, 'Slowly', sets up the correct pace and 'slow' at the end reinforces this.