Opened seeds slipped from the opened
Palms of
Fruit trees buried atop of tin soldiers;
And now all of this is a fairy tale waiting in the darkness
For the glitter of new wounds,
As the yellowed story book opens,
Stealing the hollowed sunlight from the arms of windmills,
And the bosoms of the tombs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem