Bethany Poem by Brian Taylor
Bethany
In the grey mist of an English dawn,
the starling stamps and prods and probes
and generally disturbs
the lawn,
seeking to confirm
an English proverb.
Beneath the green of an English lawn,
the patient worm
catches
the bird.
In this numbing
cosmic dance,
each one gives
and takes his chance
to feel and find
in flesh and mind
the ambiguous secrets of becoming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 4:19:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
It has a good flow. Like the ending. Good work..