Sun spills gold upon the dusty lane,
A hummingbird's quick blur, a flash of green.
The air, thick sweet, with summer's sudden rain,
A stolen moment, where no clock is seen.
That ripe plum hangs, a jewel upon the bough,
Its skin near split, with sugared, heavy weight.
No waiting then, for some imagined now,
Just taste the juice, before it is too late.
The river runs, a silver, restless thread,
And carries leaves, like whispered, fleeting sighs.
Let bare feet touch, the cool, smooth stones instead,
And catch the light, that dances in your eyes.
The wind will shift, the shadows start to grow,
But this bright instant, only we can claim.
Just let the wild, untamed within you flow,
And burn this memory, a living flame.
©bfa022725
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An enjoyable poem Bernard Bravo! ! !