A walk in the woods—
Tell it to me—
Not the leaves
So auburn in their coterie
And not some brood of squirrel
That smartly know
the tart rhymes of acorn caps
Brown abstrusely so.
But tell me then— you—
The lift in your blessed eyes
When the branches bent to sing you
Up to the blessed skies!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem