Inside brickwalled buildings
drapes drawn tight
over small windows
looking out
on wrinkled cracked blacktop
and neatly regimented thin trees
blown by hot desert breezes
I dream of green mountains
reaching heavenward
clear rushing streams
cascading down the sides of them
to form rivers in the rich valleys below
carpeted with hay and corn
and red clover
and visions of
misty days
among the birches
and the fern
and the sweet violets.
Saturday, July 5,1980
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem