Summer ends like a child of streams
The field resonant with hope
Life in the western dream
Good times
Autumn brings my first deaths
Beautiful memories
Mortality like a revelation
Regrets
I see the field in the winter
Vacant but the sun is bright
The world is a heavy disgusting place
I survive
Spring in my old age
She tells me of dreams with flowers
She already knows the world hurts
She asks, Can you hear the cardinals?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem