The roaring waves that is shaking the beach
the hissing surf that shines like glass
is part of its world and continually it is just out of reach
where wave upon wave is passing as it runs fast
and it is quick on little brittle dark feet
where sucking small sand grains
sweep in and out and water foams on sheet upon sheet
and there the rushing little bird remains
while its world is at times filled with vapour
and then again suddenly clear
it is focussing on things minutely small while waters roar
are drawing very near
it is continually searching for some allure
it runs and runs on little feet that are sure
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem