The beauty and mystery of the woods as such that I cannot tell you
Overlooking the bridge
In between
Hanging on,
Connecting the sights and scenes.
The sun flashing over and the hills shining blue
And it’s scenic, landscapic,
The bivouac to be built,
Camped under the canopy of the sky.
But the evening appearing wolfish
Seconded by the stray howls
Frightening,
Asking to retreat.
Sitting near the brook, flowing in between two hills,
Want I to hear the song of the brook,
What did it say to,
Sing of,
But the animals hinging to lick water.
What should I do now, should I stop and draw back
The steps forwarded,
As the descending evening
Telling of a peculiar desertion to take over
As the area away from human haunt and habitation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem