As night descends upon the Glades
day sounds are filtered out
nocturnal creatures slowly wake
to slither roundabout
Frogs croak in perfect harmony
as they have always done
and water moccasins now bask
on spots warmed by day's sun
Brown alligators and the gnats
teem in this muddy marsh
they swim and fly and pass time by
though life is often harsh
The cawing of a distant bird
the flutter of dark wings
is heard under a darkened moon
as ghosts of natives sing
There was a time when tribes long gone
made homes among the reeds
ignoring pain of sawgrass blades
to harvest hardship's seeds
Few can remember who they were
or why they chose this swamp
or who destroyed their ways and lives
and hallowed customs stomped
Unnoticed are the undertones
of souls who lived before
beneath the swampy symphonies
by ghostly tribes of yore
When summer moon the sea of grass
its silver sparkle lends
it promises to hallow those
whose ways came to an end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem