You are lying on your back
with a straw hat drawn at eye height over hair
sun-struck, curling and fair
with a rain cloud ominous and black
drifting past in a blue sky and a small track
needing some repair
meander past and grey ibises in a pair
are picking at a snail snack
and the smell of fresh Lucerne in purple flowers
is almost enveloping
after the last rain showers
and you play your guitar and sing
a sweet melody like a pop star but without followers
and the beauty of spring is around us in everything.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem