'Who will lead to the Lost Pond from the Evening Path? '
By the flooded quarry, his illness revealed,
The old man begs cigarettes now the doctor’s away.
There’s death for company when the lad has left
So much to part with now the laurel’s in flower.
The boys have swum naked, trim buttocks for tea!
Faint candles, faint candles, in the deepening dusk.
The Cambodian Buddha with his indolent smile
Cares nothing for this;
Cares nothing that children will chatter and gape
In memorial groups after Audubon guides;
Cares nothing that plants so thoughtfully placed
Will forgetfully grow to designs of their own.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very mature and well-crafted poem.