A Way
I saw a narrow side road unused now but
scars from cartwheels are still visible. On
both sides' walls have partly fallen down,
no longer protecting or guarding anything,
obvious except, perhaps, memories; yet
the walls, with yellows spring flowers on
looked graceful as the easterly softly blew.
I followed the road, half an hour or so, till
it ended on a field of cardinal poppies and
Spanish bluebells. The road, pointless but
lucidly romantic, tells of a time gone by,
but whether it was a good or hard time it
stays quiet, leaves it up to me to make
sense of the past and remember it gently.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That is a nice piece of writing. Captures feelings well.