At The Music Poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
At The Music
from the mornin,
it is pouring. small,
but thick, it is filling.
fields, of the road,
in and streets,
are already formed banks,
hit ploughs there,
will be
a street cleaning,
at the music.
in overalls,
and the warm jacket,
the driver of the plough,
was himself overcome.
to the work,
on ears of the receiver,
at the sight,
of favourite hits.
I am catching, on the view,
nervous hiccup.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/5/2024 8:28:40 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Interesting poem written as usual with the light poetic pen. Cool idea. It appeals :))