(with apologies to Don Mattera)
I am
free,
standing
at the death
of a infernal autumn,
gripped and baked
my kindred spirit falls about:
soothe me with a sword
hanging over me,
with one bread
of baked fabric,
that doves may blossom
from my mould.
Soothe me, with a word,
soothe me.
[Reference: "I am" by Don Mattera.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am free, standing at the death of a infernal autumn, gripped and baked my kindred spirit falls about: soothe me with a sword hanging over me, with one bread of baked fabric, that doves may blossom from my mould. Soothe me, with a word, soothe me. Very good poem