Against the lemon sky, an oak,
naked in delicate black lace.
The ancient face of the scarred moon,
early risen above a gable roof, is huge,
hanging like a battered pearl
among bruised peach clouds.
And in the west, banked purple, lit
as though by neon from below,
the sunset spreads its lurid glow.
Fantastic poem, so descriptive and bulging with language. Well done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful descriptive write. I like the creative imagery of this wonderful poem.