Triangle
Brutal he is
A modern Spartan
A cap covers his head
Hung from his side his radio
He is holding machine’s control
Pushing the handle goes round a triangle
A shrinking triangle gets smaller with each round
Sun is out
I hear the grass
My ear set in my nostrils
The tear, the cry, the whining
Underneath the noisy lawnmower
Disappears the large army of dandelions
As he walks, goes around till triangle disappears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love this fun poem! Nicely written!