Is that the grim reaper that I see,
below, in the far field,
resting with scythe and whetstone,
resting with indecision.
The far field,
where swimming in the stream
with fellow vagrant school day
travellers, or football
until called in for night,
with coats as goal posts,
beneath the chestnut tree
that yielded conkers.
the fields where cows came home
and sheep from nearby hills looked
down, as courting by the stream
brought future joy.
Down by the riverside,
and song was sung,
and strolls of love,
concern and worried brow,
were made too.
Is that the grim reaper that I see,
below, in that far field,
resting with scythe and whetstone,
in his indecision.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good one, thanks, I like it.