there's no assign bus stop
out in wilderness nor a shed
besides giant trees draping
all bus are brown from dust
you could hear that diesel
approaching a mile away
you should be on the road
when giving sign to get a ride
in california it's thumbs up
here you wave up and down
across the road; never stop
until bus is right in front of you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem