Travelling with you is such great joy
octopus on jazz your face in dance
leaving our home two arms on strings
your brows flicker and twang their delight
With pistons firing your zeal soaring
fluid arms on drums roll balls for limbs
sixth and seventh lift sax t’ya brains
and eighth concurs with trumpets blast
the moon called forth then floods your soul
with strings and horn and drums and sax
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Jazz - same it is fine! Especially, if in the same place there is a moon... 10 Tsira