the Venetian blinds
I dusted off
for my mother on
Saturday mornings,
closing, opening them
with the pull cord a few
times just to watch the outside
universe keep blinking,
as the flock suddenly
rises from November stubble,
hovers a few seconds,
closing, opening,
blinking, before it tilts,
then vanishes over a hill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Welcome to PoemHunter. Nice poem. Thanks for sharing.