Balsam graves of trapped
Song birds
Beautiful lunches over
Filigreed sunsets in
Unenchanted mountains-
Housewives with nothing
On but spangled slavery,
The bare minimal
Architecture of their
Very mother’s heredity;
She that I love doesn’t even
Care for my beasts,
She just serves drinks and
Blows boys away with her
Brown gaze-
The auburn broadside of
Her very mother’s heredity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
how so true shall read more of u and u read mine too will do