Green as a sick jewel,
Like a rattlesnake with a tooth ache knee high in
The parks
Of my childhood, and all of my dogs are lost,
But the fair is in town,
And the stewardesses are touching down,
Knees scabby from playing in the grass-
I think of all the words that they will never know:
The mountains in the distance think of snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem