The wet road follows us -
a gleaming tail
looping round steep and lake.
Bleak sodden sheep
stand sentinel
like neighbours at a wake.
A bug splats blood
to briefly stain the glass.
Mist parts a veil
to let us pass
below the mourning cloud
and beetle-small
ahead, like amethyst
the bright and sudden heather.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem