Blood drips freely onto the morbid fields,
Dapple the mop onto the torn tide of trees,
Mystery's gentle but nothing has changed,
Weep for us, for we've never learned,
Thousands of years yet the tide never turned,
Emptiness of the poppy giving false hopes and dreams,
Everything we once were we will be again,
Tiptoe away, and rest for the day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem