Busy, bustling little city
stretches, yawns and winks
at her flitting lover of a moon.
One canine choir master
conducts the others in their own
dog dawn chorus.
Portuguese Navy boat,
grey, cartoon flat against
shifting, myriad blues of sea.
Stepping reluctantly onto waiting'plane
I find, while I can leave Funchal,
Funchal cannot leave me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem