Federico García Lorca Landscape

The Olive Plain
He flaps his fan.
Above the shoots of oilseeds
The sky bowed low,
And they shower with a dark shower
Cold lights.
On the canal bank
The reeds and the twilight tremble,
And the third one is a gray wind.
Full-full of olives
Dreary bird screams.
Oh, poor captive flocks!
The darkness plays
Their long tails.

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.