At five in the evening
the hired band plays
one last slow song,
lakeside amid
the southern Appalachians
of northern Alabama.
Cheek soft on my shoulder,
The two of us sway,
in sync with the rhythms
of guitar strums and wine.
The ring on her finger
as bright as our smiles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem