Will I with you find content
in small little things
at times in happy imaginings
or must discontent
find a way into our lives until they are spent?
There are butterflies, bees and birds on small little wings
the calls of doves, of plovers, of even sparrows in the evenings
and fireflies that are sometimes present
and in all these things there is some beauty
a kind of natural grace
that changes life from what it was before
while they flutter, are roaming free
in open space upon open space
are displaying glory forevermore
[Reference: “The Glory” by Edward Thomas.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem