Crows and leaves beyond the windowpane,
a cup of steaming coffee on the stool,
my lines reflected in your eyes, which strain
in light as mine once did, the feel of wool
that keeps our stomachs, chests, and shoulders warm
unite us, you now, I who came before.
You wonder how I lived, and ask what harm
beset my age? Floods, earthquakes, famine, war.
Pain transcends the centuries is all
that I can say in speech that has no tenses.
My words part oaks and fly beyond a wall.
They are lamplight reflected in our lenses,
the taste of coffee, cawing in the fall,
the language of the five immortal senses.
Thank you for sharing this Leo, crows seem to be symbolic is so many of your pieces. Your work is a feast for the senses!
In your eyes! ! With the muse of the feel of a wool. Nice work.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow! ! ! Well crafted Absolutely beautiful! ! Leo What a delight to read 10 for sure