Flowers were her breastplate,
perfume was her breath.
Autumn was her weariness.
Winter brought her death.
Spring, the resurrection
from the earthly womb
frees Summers own perfection
as sweet terrestrial blooms.
Sally Plumb
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Who can capture summer (and so much more) in eight short lines? You've just done it, Sally! ! N
Your comment is much appreciated.aAll best wishes.