his eyes mine line
this face for what
worth is forward
blood and sweat spent
i fire two shots
he falls down slow
graceful to fault
whats left i know
the carcuss has fuel
we must move on
meat to bait winter
thrust to trudge on
2
her spirt is vapour
these lines we walk ancient
these stones set in situ
exactly as always
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem