A winding road with leaves of gold
The crafted columns
make many rooms
The terrace roof and sky aloof
stare down the mountain’s concrete scar.
Painted yellow stripes
bely the redding road.
Wetted feet of silly imps
carry us the morning dew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a lovely and loving evocation an autumn setting. I say loving because it's not just images that the poem expresses but it also conveys an appreciation of these delicate things which will not last long. The closing image of imps and morning dew captures that delicacy marvelously. The second time I read this poem I read it outloud; it has a breathless quality which suits the subject. In our troubled age, we need what poets call Poems of Witness to acknowledge injustice, and I read such poems every week in magazines. But poems like A Winding Road are also necessary, so that we celebrate what's good and show our gratitude.