In Hastings Gardens
the fir
points out
jutting into the night
chill is growing
as
the red sunset glows.
days come
and their zenith
have
for zenith there be
as coming
but
end was irresistible.
So hummed the fir
that night
and the other trees
in Hastings Gardens
stood still
erect and silent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem