Riding on horse and hoof,
Vaulting fence, wall and roof.
Going past meadows green,
Going to a place I've been.
Leaping 'cross rivers cold,
Riding like the heroes old.
Crashing hoof, waving hand,
That's the logic of the land.
Glitt'ring sword, brandished high,
To kill the men, as they lie.
I, with armor, look along,
As little voices rise in song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem