The amaryllis bulbs
we store and plant each year
are coming up again
and my wife Ronnie
is so pleased.
“I love you, ” she says to them.
“You’re like old friends returning:
Sweet Nymph, Dancing Queen,
Brazza, Rosetta and
Sunny Prince! ”
Oh, never mind that rolled-back stone,
the shock of light,
the garments benighted
with blood,
and all those galactic
hosannas.
This resurrection
suffices.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem