The loose knit morning rose, cold, though it was it had opportunity endless
robin tells me, by his red flash, grass, frosted emerald needs footprints
just to make it authentic, would I please give him some bread long tail flashing semaphore.
the telegraph poles buzz, mobiles ring, but the birds tweet, better than anything on line.
for they choose the sparrows one, two, three, to gossip away the early morning
to preen and wash before breakfast.
Starlings, those little beggars, steal food,
with much flapping and consternation, making sparrows indignant.
the cars have not yet come out, to career like dragons, on metaled tarmac,
so the birds and I have the morning to ourselves, as we eat our breakfasts of nuts and seeds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Morning rose receives the cold and endless perception. The telegraph poles buzz. We feel everything. A brilliant topic is presented ad really you have nicely felt the birds...10