Ved'Ma Poem by Patti Masterman
Ved'Ma
A Russian can take a stilted verse,
Born bow-legged, by a frozen lake
And spank it's rosy cheeks, till spring;
Play it like a well-tuned balalaika,
Warmed by umber-tumblered fires,
While prays an icon fresh from casting
Bent from a jewel-encrusted lyre,
Swathed in firs, in the finest troika
In tall forests, thick with pine;
So that recited soft, at sunset-
Once each day- soon you are mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 3:16:44 AM # 1.0.0.1119
