are wild heather
clinging
to boggy soil,
wringing out usable minerals
from forsaken ground,
specialised for the task,
gripping tightly,
unlikely to be pulled up by man,
or weather.
Craggy stems,
harsh curly head of hair-
still, she bears small green leaves
in spring- and in Autumn-
a magnificent purple blaze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
that has got strong sensuality in it! !