The dog trod the path
Towards the den.
The hunter sounded his whistle
Towards the dog.
The rarefaction and compression
Of the whistle sound,
Like the rustling of forest leaves
And the howling of passing wind,
Journeyed hollow through its ears.
The hunter's whistle sings its dirge,
Sooner, the dog is bathed in blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem