What a day to be alive.
Woodland fragranced air strokes
And lovingly envelopes me, frees me more,
Frees my mind and heart to leap
And lap the sylvan nectar.
Every blade diamond drenched,
And every tree hand in lacy bewebbed hand
As they gather their bramble petticoats
And shyly show their fruits.
So good to be alive.
And below me men are crying,
Dying in their filthy holes,
Terror's rictus grin on their patriotic faces
As He lovingly envelopes them,
Frees them from everything
To lap His foetid nectar
And never want to leave.
What a day to die.
Hi Kevin - I am so glad to have caught you page as I would have missed this fine poem. It is eloquent, metred well and full of beautiful imagery. I certainly give it ten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
To lap His foetid nectar. Rachel Ann Butler