Behind the emerald ferns,
Bowstrings taut and set,
Between the trunks of mighty oaks
Where the fairies met
They take away the children
To raise them as their own
The graceful moon would rise and fall
Till the stolen ones were grown
Sing toward the forest
And steal away the sky
Lend the voice of fairytales
Where dragons are wont to lie
Dancing between the raindrops
And flitting away with laughter
Into night’s eternal wonder
And the dawn that follows after
Grace that never withers
The children of tomorrow
Grey-filled skies of yester-year
Strikes them down with sorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem