I rustic bench to sit on
To contemplate the past
Why the world seems likely
To never ever last
How short the days in winter
How raging are the seas
And why a little Robin
Has landed on my knees
It's breast aglow with deepest red
A song it sings with glee
A rustic bench to sit
With such beauty on my knee
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem