Sunlight infusing green arbored stands
Pierced by the blue-fractured facets of sky.
Platinum gray, hang the Spanish moss strands
In a summering breeze that whispers and sighs.
Alone at my desk, impounded by stress
Through the window I gaze at bright August days
And long for the touch of summer's caress,
Fluttering the leaves, as the ivied-limbs sway.
From the window I turn to the work yet undone
The weight of my labors quenching the light
Of the shimmering gold of the late summer sun
Still, the siren song whispers of arboured delights,
And etches its verse where the mind cannot fight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem