The dire was roaming
The dire was hovering
In the airs
Over the marsh
To where the zigzagging
Farm road meandered
Right unto the edge of
The chalk cliffs
Low to the sea lapping.
The dire had a blank look
In the sunset.
In the dusk the dire
Had a face of hunger
More than the faces
Of hungry wolves
Benighted roaming.
More.
More than.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem