driving down the hill I
looked out over the
sprawling town
and smirked at the layer
of cotton laid out like
a blanket over the sleeping town
and I hoped that the town would
squirm and smother under
that fog blanket
but when I got into town I
looked up and saw the same
lonely sky I see every morning
such false hopes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The beauty of the sky can be deceiving. Look around the blanket. Splendid imagery you have displayed. Patricia Gale