Lilac clouds, a wash of green
At daylight's end:
When west is dark, to northward
A heat-haze aurora
Silhouettes our roof-slopes.
Beautiful, but it chills me:
We have made her burn with fever,
The sky, our mother.
Great poem, Richard. I like the striking contrast in the final lines, nice imagery too. Cheers, Seán
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The title drew me in, and I was not disappointed. The picture was not only lovely, but unusual. Good work. Raynette