Poetry Is The Washing Hanging In The Courtyard Of Paradise Poem by Yorgos Blanas
Poetry Is The Washing Hanging In The Courtyard Of Paradise
Poets sleep like birds
in the blessed peace of forests.
Snow spreads its hair
over their wooden eyes
rain soaks their hearts
and the sun dries their thoughts
in the clearings.
Somewhat late in the afternoon
a blue-coloured oldster
gathers verses and folds them
like pure white bed sheets.
Translated by Yannis Goumas
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poetry
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5/2/2024 7:31:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
