on the riverbank
in mist
a herron holds steady
in the scullers' wake
shifting its head
slowly sideways
to follow their pace
off shore
on a wooden dock
a fisherman anticipates
the waves
reels in his line and pauses
to note the strain on
each passing face
above the river
from a train
an engineer waves
as the scullers bear down
blowing his whistle then
cranes his neck
to catch the race
down river
mist now swallows the race
the herron takes flight
the fisherman casts his line
the engineer looks ahead
the scullers' wake
gone without a trace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good strong writing...i think you have a fine poem here...great job!