I remember a track I used to walk it was uneven, exposed
olive tree roots were made smooth by sheep´s hooves.
I have taken pictures of places I used to walk look at them
now and feel regret that I shall not walk these paths again,
yet also-one has to say that or risk sounding bitter- thankful
that I was given the chance to walk there and see animals
those not yet domesticated like deer, wild boars, and rabbits
frolicking in the dandelion yellow glade of love.
I feel sorry for household animals they are utterly in our power,
pat a goat´s head then slit its throat and think no more about it
all in a day´s work. Three couples of pensioners came here to
my village many years ago now they are dead victim of old age.
Just like goats we know nothing about the day, first a promising
sun, then the sudden stillness pale frost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem