Clothes dripping, lined, and pinned.
Afternoon sun sweetening roses...
Almost free of morning's frost...
Morning's price of brown curls.
Hen's flapping to rooster crows...
Fluffed-up hen...chicks in a month.
Robins, blue jays' daylight. Owl nights.
White, full moon. Harvest orange gone.
Big, green locust on the screened porch.
No cicada twilight song, 'Hither, love.'
Doing dishes in a meatloaf-smell kitchen.
Table set. Potato salad. Fresh bread.
Spring is tip-toeing towards me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Something very creative and difficult to difine about the this one Elysabeth, like you have captured a series / snap shots of moments passed, also did you notice the curvature of the line endings, unique perhaps by structure All in all, a fine piece Love duncan X