The cranes were tall and croaked parched as
angry birds; the heavens leaden turned
their faces at time red as in the dusk
in to which the torrid helmet-men delved.
there rested the old landlords, the ancient
over-coats musty smelled, yet there were
they and there they remained: there were
occasional screams through out lone nights.
and through the streets and lanes of the
cemeteries; the trees rose high and
overlooked the secret processions of ghosts and
shrouds that rose at night
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem