The waters are obeying in line
With the directions of Time
No longer by Mtahleb cliffs the storms
Or the high rushing waves that screech
Cease too often high night winds
That savaged wintry old Mtahleb plain
With this
Though I thrill in Mtahleb in the storms
To Mtahleb I still go as sweet Spring comes.
Though wilder be
In winter the long plains.
Not weather but place rules.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem