Turn under, plow,
My trouble;
Turn under griefs
And stubble.
Turn mouse's nest,
Gnawing years;
Old roots up
For new love's tears.
Turn, plow, the clods
For new thunder.
Turn under, plow,
Turn under.
'Turn under, plow, My trouble; Turn under griefs And stubble.' what wonderful lines, loved them, so much wisdom stems from watching listening interacting with nature, when time accumulated in nature sows wisdom seeds
Beautiful poem. Don't know if the poet meant stumble instead of stubble on the last line of the 1st stanza.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Turn, plow, the clods For new thunder. Turn under, plow, Turn under.