Summer she saw
and the swing was empty
She called to her mother
with nature's voice
Her tiny feet trod upon
fresh blades and crippled stems
as she lifted a yellow crown
adorned with honey bees
from the soil
upon her head
The weeping beech chattered
as crescent wings slowed and settled
and she merrily took to the shade beneath
The dogwood blooms
looked like fresh paint
Delicate and soft
on a dark canvas
of ancient tree bark and sapling oil
as the sun's rays crumbled
with a sallow hue
like threshed grain
trampled by a palomino
and brushed away by a straw broom
The faint breeze tickled her face
as the cool dust settled between her toes
and a dim blue shadow loomed beyond the treetops
It settled with night
and a shivering moon climbed the celestial turret
nakedly, till it became nestled in a cloudy tussock
She saw summer grow
and watched it fade
When summer gardens boiled
for the last time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem