It draws me
To its bosom
That feral empty lot
With its weeds all
Steeped in richness
That would rival any rose.
Its colours paint a rainbow
Through grasses
Brushed in gold
Carefree art in glory
Something so bold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poetic imagination, Lewis. Thank you very much,