Wobbling over the wayside chapel,
Spreading wings above the cross,
An eagle alights on its cone.
In the eve's soft beaconing rays,
Souls craving salvation on maple avenues beside.
There, a white frock spotted pink,
A parasol in a yellow hue,
Shading half a face, hatted in blue;
She seems to be nearing.
Carts slow, shops glance,
Breaths faint, my heart pumps,
She's still coming.
A soft breeze caresses,
And there, I freeze.
'Angel, ' my heart dances
With the maple-studded avenues,
Scenting out of my frailty,
A land of sensuous reality.
Sparrows and roses in harmony
nature in an oblivious harmony;
The chapel gently chimed,
Touching, waking me from the spell.
She had passed a few yards away,
As I awoke to my life's fray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you are an expert word weaver hhhmmm poets should be like you