For J
Among the small graves a soft shaft of sunlight gently rains
On a memory; etches, as a glittering finger,
Golden corn field hair, ignites eyes sweet as the sea’s blue plains,
Traces lips pink as Mary’s carnation tears and lingers…
Then - is gone. Oh ancient sun above how shall I tell
Of the heart’s deep yearnings that the years can never quell?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem