A fog settled over the park last night,
so thick, it transformed the moon
into a ghost high above the trees,
and it was quiet, with only the muffled
sound of occasional horses,
clopping their way through the dark winding
roads, pulling lovers in carriages
through the quiet mist, past one haloed
streetlamp after another, on their way back
to their places beside the Plaza Hotel.
Bert Bell 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You've captured a scene perfectly....wonderful imagery.