 |
| Christian Schloe, In Bloom |
on the seventh day of the Seventh-month
once the time of evil spirits has passed.
Our breaths invisible,
the cherry tree blossoming
somewhere away from our hearing
No threat of snow,
the sky almost clear
We will speak of yesterday's sunset,
the roses entangled in the garden,
the two doves that must soon fly
to unknown cities, far apart.
The pure white orange blossoms blooming
somewhere by the heavenly temple
No comments:
Post a Comment