In and out dappled-dew-wet ferns
his ghostly spirit glides
in and out of these mottled skies
beneath those blue bristle pine furs
where a fox cub has lain aground
here shall his heart be found.
Here shall his spirit's soul resound
in-the-quietude of bluebells mound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem