When the Cape winter rain comes and falls softly
mushrooms rise up everywhere,
everywhere in the plantations and the dale
with the mud flowing around like brown soup
while fog that draws close over the hilltop,
and suddenly a rainbow appears over the pine tops,
while guinea fowl wander around in a large group
but nowhere any thunder bolt resounds
and this world sparkles like a small universe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem