As grey clouds of mosaic glide into eve,
Rickets of light beam through.
A bird flies by
This darkening sky;
A mandolin leads a lonely tune;
And mist forms o'er the hills.
Another day gone
But the dawn to spawn;
The sun to rise;
And the pale blue skies.
A very enchanting poem. Beautifully expressed. Looking forward to read more of your works.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a softening of the sharp edges in mosaic... nice