For a moment, the sun
on a red barn, dying,
on dry fields still as a gold death-mask
warmed yellow only to the eye
beneath the winter-prophesying sky,
before night's shadow gathers the last straws
of afternoon to its scrawny breast;
the sun on a red barn, dying,
resurrects a lone child, playing.
Potent imagery, lovely word-picture. '...last straws of an afternoon'...very nice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful imagery Anjana