Pass the day for bravado,
And I will not meet your eye –
The waves of barley pass below
A wake of hurricane
I have not a soldier met, the fields
Of running blood -
These wretched patches, boiling sod, intransigent
Mercurial earth.
Pass the day my caged canary,
And I will not stop to chatter –
The craters spot the shattered whey
A rage of understood
I have but a final wish, the dream
Of Constantine -
These wretched patches, boiling mud, intransigent
Mercurial earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderfully delightful poem, and a 10.