After a great storm the sun comes out
never more delicious or abundant-
flowers blossom, never more resplendent:
show their petals in between the stout
and ancient half-way shining trees
until the forest floor in tapestries
of rugs to tread and carpets wall to wall
myrtles, jonquils, violets, periwinkles
grab the eye in fabulous display
of tones and textures in so fine a fray
tangling all in dalliance purposeful
amorous, seductive, practical.
If perfume you abhor or hate the dew
then this is not the time or place for you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sonnet perhaps? I really enjoyed this. Give me all nature's perfumes (even the slightly off or turned ones; the sheer endless creativity of the odors can make up for any shortfall!