In morning's hush
heat builds,
leaves glitter.
Into pure silver
dissolves the shade.
Birds are calling
winging it
to high, dark eves,
any place
where the tattered night
may hide
and seek retreat
from day's clear,
searing eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This piece is wonderful. The imagery and the flow work together so well to create the feel of the day. Very well done, indeed.