My mother liked to do needlework.
With skillful stitches she embroidered
bright human figures, red watermelons,
and brown trunked trees
with green foliage.
She decorated our home with her own
comely tapestry of canvas work.
I walked today through a park
in bleached November light.
The grass was green
with brown patches in the ground.
And I remembered my mother.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem