Eyes green; ichor of the forest
Follows you around like a secret.
Hair veiled mist, hanging lank, like a longing
Forgotten; stray tendrils to cling
To whatever moves, sometimes leaving wounds..
Doesn't hold to any name
That you or I could utter;
Muttering leaves, clapping twigs
Or a sudden wind,
Might know those syllables.
Her gaze is long, and never forgets
A horizon, or a flowing stream-
She hides her in the deeper woods,
Preferring to meet none..
But still: there she is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem