Chief member of the press gang,
Cudgels warming to the blow.
Porcupine quills pointing, whiskers
Sharp, tingling with excitement.
Bubbling waters skimming over
Grey boulders swirling, dancing.
The trout swim in fear of the otter,
Lutra Lutra, king of the river Wye.
Its plush home adorned with flowers
Lighting the sky, kissing the water.
Sitting on its veranda, surveying
Its territory looking out over the evening
Sunset, taking trout from its larder.
Taking a cool long drink in the setting sun,
With young playing in the watermaking to run.
Men walking dogs along the river fail to spot
The party playing hide and seek.
Trout and grayling hide, otters seek
They play this deadly game every day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem