The gentle caress of the young breeze.
The fiercer pull of the wind as it rushes up from the lake.
Feeling my skin shift of bronze under the languid kiss of the sun.
Looking out at a strip of bruise blue water, dusted with touches of white.
Then, a rolling stretch of brown hills darkened by patches of sparse trees.
And finally, the unending, blue eyed gaze of the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful rendition of words nicely encapsulated with artistic brilliance. A lovely creation. Thanks for sharing Kelsy.