Owls Poem by Leo Yankevich
Owls
The valley sinks into the mist;
the yellow ring of the horizon
eclipses the cornea of the sun;
the ridge blooms purple on my wrist,
fading, inimical and black.
The earth exhales into the dusk,
frost forming in the shaded husk
of afterglows. My wine and sack
my only friends, I hear the call
of hovering owls, as stars drift down.
A hawk upon a bough, no town
high or below, I wait for Fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
10/31/2025 2:04:08 PM # 1.0.0
