A woman wears a dress
She’s spattered streams of red
Bees hum loosely about flower beds
Marinating marigolds and landing on heads
Here we sit upon the sharp end of summer
Eyes a peering like hot knives through butter
I think I forgot your card
Nothing meant hard
I see the clouds maybe one
As they dangle around the son
For some life is low cut
That’s as far as they look
Summer is a sinner
With the heat of hell
Oh this has come just right
See those tears in her eyes
Roll on the jumpers of winter
From the buildings they do fall
Gazes turning back into the paving
Till next year comes a gazing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem