when trees unleave
we take to the road
that leads down to Macumera
not far from the coast
in an area
called the Plains
We will dance and sing
in the moon's light
the next morning
we will arise
at the first crack
and don gray tunics
and tote bags
of gifts
to climb the steep
streets of Macumera
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem