A land on a main road in another
Country
Permit to build round tourist
Industry
A village small and at the back
The trees at night will whisper and
Protest
At the intrusion of an alien fold
So
Will do the night creatures
Though farther inside the wood they
Go
And the night-birds that flew over
The land
When it was green, a field, their home
And now
Now
They shy away from home and relocate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem