Now the sun is falling on me
Alone in the world,
The faithful hounds at
My feet;
100 horses grazing is
My neighborhood
At 8,000 feet.
The shadows slip like
A woman's dress from
Her pining shoulders
As a cunning Indian slips
That much closer to
Steal what
My father borrowed from him.
There's a wound on my face
That will not heal,
But the woman will come
Again-
Who she is I will not
Say,
But if I close my eyes
Then you will see
Her smiling brilliancy
In the darkness of my world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem