Of willows that groan
Of streams that gargle
Verse
Of Ides that roam from
March
Sing
Poet Seer who woke before the Dawn
That you
May watch her rise and
Speak to her.
Life
Be
Jumping
Hearts
Be
Throbbing
Blood
Pulsating
Yesterday
The nightingale sang
And sang
‘I smell of blood'
Hedgehogs were roaming
Yesterday
One held a phonogram
The other sax
Another trumpet
Sang
Another violin.
Played.
Throughout
The grasses and
Bushes
There was nocturnal rustling
Yesterday
In Hastings Gardens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poetry rises early and does its job... it sums up feelings to measure the cost and reward of the way we live; When the scent of blood is on the wind, its gift of seeking out beauty becomes is a hard burden.