Dance, sugar plums!
across the page
sweet words
to fit the season
the scent of tangerines,
of pine, of candlewax
a delicate caress
for nostrils often filled
with diesel and with dust.
Eyes burn sweetly with
the incense of a mass,
the fragrant smoke
of Yule, burn with the tears
of sentiment unfolding
in smiles, in grins,
of joy, or the sad
sweet taste of ashes
from the lonely in the heart
that has not found its mate
that daydreams on the sidelines
painting dreams to come
across the canvas of the mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem