On my Walmart chair, bathed in the glow,
Of a late January morning sun.
Time for seeds to start popping, and begin to grow,
And warming myself is the best kind of fun.
Bathed in the glow of The star far away,
That warms my old bones, more everyday.
Gazing at the wispy clouds in the stratosphere,
Bathing in the glow, of a star I hold dear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem