Silver birches line the lake
bone-pale before the evergreens
shoreline a rip rap
of gnarled and twisted stumps
weathered grey - the windfall waste
of trees already sawed and burned
in winters past.
Faint melon light of sunset
quivering
refracted in the rain
of dusk and the lake's
darkening glass.
First published in THE MOZZIE Volume 16, Issue 2, April 2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem