For there were roads to walk upon
and a sky to watch, that loomed
that poured, and the sun melted
on the ground, burst from the wild
plants, shrubs by the road
through the exhaust of lorries,
the sun forced its way. Inside a concave
of smaller voices, a myriad of colours,
more nebulous were
those voices.
I slid down into its grasp.
Those were the years.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is nothing like a hot summers day with the sun shining down on you. A great poem.