In the distance before slopy hills
the cipress is a needle in the eye
a pastelfeathered sky tells why
Oh Mata, don't be shy Hari
and the lost day plays harakiri
while the bloodshaded valley
will start to revive
that's amore, c'est la vie
that's a poets'startled shy
… a naked Blanca eagerly
awaiting to be stained
with mistery! M
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem