I’ll paint a perfect afternoon in Georgia,
When the sun is steaming in the sky:
I am sitting alone on the veranda
Made of glass walls eight feet high
And a ceiling hung with fans which whirl
And mix the air cooled by electricity.
The grass outside the room is yellow-green
And rich and deep, a carpet for a king.
The trees are stately, lifting up their leafy crowns
To an azure sky mottled with white clouds.
Inside, where I am half-lying down,
It is cool and quiet all around.
By my hand: the iciest of mint teas.
By my other hand: a book half-read through.
Some assorted fruit, and chocolate cookies,
And nothing else in the world to do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Covetable and Keen Sophia. best care, sjg