In my youth nature was very intense,
I could then find
the smallest insect, the tiniest bird;
in my own mind,
all things were great and quite beautiful
but left behind
that world has long gone into some decay;
if in another life, another day.
Now summer is just extremely hot
some weavers a pest,
the grass far too long after the last rain,
a fallen nest
now unnoticed is trodden upon
and at its best
the year bring some new opportunities
in some assets and liabilities.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem