In the waning cascades
of the evening sun
I straddle across
to the edge of the pond
and settle on the rustic rocks
beneath a sycamore tree
and in a vigil moment
I watch the horizon
lingering in nonchalance
deep in the bowels
of an orange-glow sky
the wind lurking
among blades of grass
whispering in monotone
and rabbits querying
garden vegetation
as if they suspect
organic grocery is not real
and I listen to the neighing of horses
and grunting of pigs
and quiet wading of geese
in the water's rush
over a lingering stream
then my eyes
dwell on a mole-hill
watching black ants
congregating for a night cap
as the evening
draws a curtain for the day
full of love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Life goes on at a natural pace so I see from your poem depicting accurately the things of routine so beautifully well!