Ripples tickle the mahogany canal,
As superficial as the frown lines
Crinkling the forehead of a young boy.
Radiant swans glide unperturbed,
Soothing the patina of lilies and reeds,
With sinister black masked faces.
Hunched bridges of dressed stone:
Rumble, blatt and horns of crossing traffic,
Underneath lurking darkly turned shadows.
Overgrown, busily disparaged towpath
Accommodates patiently resigned fishermen;
Time held eternal by ever standing waters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
lovely imagery...lovely