Clothed in grey
the garden nymph
stood all day
on a concrete plinth.
Dull and drab
as ashen granite
she stood, stone slab,
silent, inanimate.
Till that one
day I saw her wear,
in the dazzling sun
as she stood there,
a crimson butterfly in her grey hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem