In the Garden Populated With Flowers
In the garden populated with flowers, red and budded,
Resort robins birds, with inflated fluffy feathers.
They fall in waves between the grass gushing in green
And the impetus of a small purifying pinkish river.
Somewhere in the far little barks that gleam
are resting with oars freely loose; Infants across,
in jackets navy-blue and decent hats,
kick around wide wheel with legs and sticks.
And their peaceful mothers waving in the sun white
handkerchiefs at nurses with wines and baskets overflowed
with food; wide dresses gently flared craw the pure grass,
back and pelvis are stretched drowsy upon accumbent canvases.
The gentlemen with flat cylinder hats: aristocrats and patricians,
undulate hair with radiance of gold, chested,
count cash incomes and score the points in game of cards.
Their coats carelessly abandoned as in modest ensemble of black.
Nearer are all solar deeds, the high stems
and underbushes; pekmez dropped on broad leaves
and bottle of beer – spilling gold with honeycomb like
soul, swings inept, far from the nosy flocks.
White shirt, tailcoat of tricolor velvet, flit about
loudly in a clash with shoes and jabots. The stockings
fly across, breeches slip, underpants reveal!
ideally undressed and with an exquisite moan in reverie:
The two male bodies.
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