Slide and glide
Through the corn field
Behind the house
To feel the shade of 'the old ladies' home
Summer boys
Beguiled into dust
Ravished the crackling stalks
Searching for madness
Wings that never land
Became like aged skin
Holding to itself
Lifting in the morning sun between streaks
Quick to the eye
Quick to the air
I see crows and maids
Almost old and almost caught
RB
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem