Spirit of a meadowlark, a yellow moon
Her words like gracious vines
She captures me in songs of streams
She enthralls me in a lilac vase
Chained to mornings elves
The air is filled with Wordsworth
Windermere whispers love
Lakes like ancient spells
Hills with ripe winds of poets
Roses brighter then pirates treasure
Moss grows on logs like green fire
Her bracelets of myth
Earrings of blue stars
Norman Ghosts
Wine of Scotland
Gnomes smile like purple flowers
Her eyes are chants of Queens
Dress of bleating sheep
Elves sing songs of rainbows
I’m in love with a witch
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
{Dress of Bleating Sheep} made me think of the potential of a re edit to addressed by Bleating Sheep. as if they had their own sense of authority. even though they are metaphorically sheep: -)