To One Dead Poem by Maxwell Bodenheim
To One Dead
I walked upon a hill
And the wind, made solemnly drunk with your presence,
Reeled against me.
I stooped to question a flower,
And you floated between my fingers and the petals,
Tying them together.
I severed a leaf from its tree
And a water-drop in the green flagon
Cupped a hunted bit of your smile.
All things about me were steeped in your remembrance
And shivering as they tried to tell me of it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 11:01:18 PM # 1.0.0.1119
