That time of year.
Has come
When dreams
Like yellow leaves,
Or none, or few
Do hang
On our mango tree.
I have memories
Of sticky juice
Running down your cheek
You licked your fingers
And brushed the
Truant strand away
Leaving a smut
On your nose.
And how you laughed when I pulled you
Towards me........
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem