I am no land for your flowers
it's cold in these parts for your spring
I am some infinite fields of sanguine tones
sharp and smooth as great grey stones,
and look how they burn in the sun.

I am no land for flowers
there's wild winds in these parts for kite wings
but, sweetheart choose any of my trees that you like
I will offer sweet shade to your dreams 
watching over from my famous sand castles
as long as you sleep.

tended lullabies as lovely as cherries
embodying the howls of the seabedded things;
I by the sea now stand agape,
where tidal horses often come and ask of me
they collapse into the sand: one, two, three...
into crimson pigments they glide, and are running free.

By no means, am I no land of flowers,
but, my grounds won't serve their burials either. 

Myrto Koukodimou