Little black boat, in the lagoon
Grey, green, or blue
Placid and beautiful
Then one summer, a storm
Not the first storm,
But first for a while.
Water spills over the shoreline
Quickly dried, a hand from the sand
And the warmth of the air
The boat in the middle, trembling
As the winds blow,
And the lake weeps
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem