Legs follow, each, in dust
Flies, they fly,
Wounds they lick,
Heavy, pregnant sacks,
A whip cracks
A journey from, morn to dusk
The palate is dry,
Wound festers, a tear drops,
Thought I saw Donkey tears!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As always your poems are terrific Charles!