saturday, there are so many choices
the hammock lies waiting
swaying,
the green fields have trees
teeming with the ripeness of their fruits
they lack harvesters
the pathways are like open arms
the junctions are like vendors calling for
more customers
the clouds are umbrellas opening
without hands to hold them
the rains are planning to create
more rivers
the valleys are giving in to the
clarity of the plains
all for you.
Still asleep on last night's
hangover from those
wild merry-go-rounds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem