Soaring feathers
hurry through November's
storming -
below the confusion, riding lake's
chilly crest, a Mallard lays
in rocking stillness
wings outstretched, no
longer part
of journeys south
often leading season's flight,
raised a family within
the framework of this bay.
He'll miss the fragrance
of Spring's return,
the joy in swooping delight
lifeless, but never forgotten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wondrful poem on mallards in lovely, fine poetic description.! Kudos! Do pls review my latest poem too.