Sometimes we passed through Buttermilk Hollow in the Summertime, when I was little.
Buttermilk Hollow Road with lush trees, past homes, past shops, past industry.
Sulphur Cloud butterflies between new leaves.
Rounding the curb wondering if people had peace there, had they chosen to live there just due
to the beautiful name?
Or, was it hard due to the shutting down of
some of the mills then?
Red brick houses mostly.
Some sweetly worn but real.
Buttermilk Hollow with the new roots singing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem