Summer Kiss
B
Barry Middleton
0
Altın Yaprak
No blossom compares
with a kiss in summer.
Springtime is hope,
but infant, wistful days
grow pale in the heat
of a blue August sky.
The touch of your skin,
golden leaves dripping
in the sacred hot rain,
are a plea and a prelude
to the birth of memory.
No blossom compares
with a kiss in summer,
when the season turns
to fever, and white wind
aches for the comfort
of sky fire and thunder,
before the storm passes.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş