The moon gleams silver
On the road, on the road,
Moist breasts of earth
Are bluish in the light
From the blue moon night.
The naked earth that lies before me
With pond of water and flower beds
In middle of August of matured trees
And before, autumn of color bleeds
In the blue moon night.
The wind in trees whispers soft and slow
Of dark night shadows, dark night shadows,
It comes with whisper and then it goes
But the moon still from distance glows
In the blue moon night
On the road, on the road.
(In memory of Federico García Lorca/1898-1936)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem