Nasturtium flames burn,
red and yellow.
Bumblebees, like cinders,
visit each one in turn,
air hums with heat.
The vines of the pear twist
up white metal struts
of the glassless greenhouse,
awaiting autumn to produce
bulbous green fruit.
Reflected sunshine rises from ground,
swirls around my head.
I am giddy as a child on a roller coaster,
almost airborne….
in such a garden as this.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem