Over dew covered sedge
we squeaked our way
to a redish form beyond
a clump of rushes
Siskins sang from bushes
at the bottom of the brae
as we traversed the frog
spawned surface
Attracted like a magnet
to the remains of a fox
do you remember that day
then we were but kids
as free as the clouds
The Marshfield then was
our Eden and sometimes
I think after our demise
it will be a heaven or at
least our ghosts will
traverse its acres
On that occasion our
interest was a dead fox
shot overnight by bounty
hunters who removed its
tongue as proof of their
deed
A young fox a vixen
filling me with sadness
clouding my mind
with the thought of death
I almost cried
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem