My Little One Poem by Naveed Akram

My little pony feels the woods of a day that dies,
With winter is a pang of desire, with summer a certain
Swing of the arms and legs, and autumn carries my wish
For the spring to come always, like the fall always says.
No stopping with heat, no thinking from queer folk,
My little animal is awaiting the deeds of strong stories.
Between the oak tree and delighted conifer is the well
So deeper than deep, with water so cool that cold air
Removes the throat, sinking you in the fridge of your seat.

My little one is thinking of queer little creatures, offering me
A twig tinging like a teased leaf, fully warmed by the sunlight.
Where is my lovely primrose of the right? When does my left
Cause the ethereal travel? What is my form of transport?
I see the spring of young men and women, like boulders
In the rain, seizing the weather so soft and sinful, so sweet.

My little moment is over when bells shake and chime into buzzes,
The bees bloat, the wasps sting, and songs of work are afresh.
My travel is between you and me, like the way of the sorry serpent,
Many have died with an irate heart, the heart has indeed bled.