When I was young and the wind was right
I could hear the foghorns down on the Thames
The great sea-voices of the ships
Coming into the Port of London
Bass siren songs in slow harmony
Calling me to faraway places
Now both the port and I have moved
And these mournful calls just a memory
But sometimes at night when the wind is right
I can hear the freight train’s horn
A mile of freight cars hauling west
And the old wanderlust stirs faintly
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyed the cadence of this poem. The description is good, so is the evocation of nostalgia. I'm not sure the last line can't be improved, just a tad. (who knows?) You stirred me with the body of the poem, I wonder if the last line couldn't stir just a little more. Maybe I'm just being finicky.