Here the barley doth but grow
by the sun in morning glow
so by nature is so slow
I sit down and have a blow.
The heat lies upon my face,
hope for the human race,
the hover fly stays in mid air,
lands upon my sweaty hair.
Piebald carthorse do I see
munching grass oh so free.
Cow sit there chewing the cud
by river not in flood.
The sun shines upon still water
until the river doth alter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem