Ostfront Poem by Leslie Philibert
Ostfront
Ostfront.
Das Vergissmeinnicht.
Smoke thick as oil.
The Moon hard as glass.
Farmer-faced they are blown like stars.
Bitte.
Take them home to;
A meadow vincented with August
With the warm diesel of bees,
A contract of wheat, girl´s hair.
Where an embrace blooms; noble white
Open with milk, soft down.
But for now;
Two old blind men play a game of chess.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 1:42:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
