Northern men of ice and story:
Lay your shadows by the sand
Our mouths have closed for want of kisses
And now deny what you began
Southern men of moon and music:
Weave us sandals from the grass
Our skins have tightened since the summer
Too dry to breath in nature’s dance
Heir to the histories of your loving
I guess no culture holds a cure
For the free and landless alcoholics
Ever seeking for your shore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely flow and imagery, perhaps a drinking song.