Oak leaves still, silent.
Infant sunlight too young
Yet...
Aging, growing stronger.
Hours put spurs to the
Wind...
Clouds banish blue.
Noon leaves tic tac,
Tic tac...
It begins.
Afternoon crashes.
Hammers ring, growl...
Thunder...
Oak leaves rage the
Atlas-rough
Trunk...
Twilight angels
Wash wings of
Silence...
Monday is complete.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful. The whole violence of the weather put so well in this poem. The start, The storm. The calm. Delightful. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX