winter crushes
the promise of April,
a string of robins
shiver at my window;
heavy breasts huff
in the cold. a child
digs for spring
with burnt cheeks;
my hopeful tulips
depart. I have
tea to replace
your warmth,
and for breakfast,
a mouthful of words
I forgot to send
with you-
my tears offer the
poinsettia
the only relief
it deserves,
and I realize,
the more we grow,
the lonlier
I become
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a powerful piece of writing! Keep them coming!