By Xuan Quynh
It's the season of birdsong.
The sky is deep blue, sunlight is everywhere.
The soil climbs the tree; the sap tends the fruits.
Man's footsteps break new paths.
It's the season in which nothing can hide.
The whole world is dressed in light.
The sea aqua, the white sails full.
And bitterness turns into poetry.
It's the seasons of hopes and dreams,
Of man's ancient and innumerable cravings.
Winds turn to storms, rains into rivers and seas.
A simple glance might light the spark of love.
It's the season of twilights.
The paper kite parts the high open sky,
The crickets stay awake in the warm night singing,
The moor hen breaks the noon's silence.
O summer, have you gone?
O desires of youth, are you here or not?
The earth still holds the deep blue of the sea,
And the sweet fruit, the faint color of blossoms.
Discovered via this morning's Poet's Choice column on Vietnamese poets.
We think we are going to Baltimore with the kids. We think my parents have just invited themselves along. My father has a sore achilles tendon which probably means no walking from Port Discovery to the science center or the aquarium, which was going to be my compensation for doing stuff purely for the kids for half the day. Sigh.
This is silly but I liked my answer so I'm posting it...gacked, I think, from remuslover who's going to have to share: