A silence slipping around like death,
Yet chased by a whisper, a sigh,
a breath; One group of trees, lean,
naked and cold,
Inking their cress 'gainst a
sky green-gold;
One path that knows where the
corn flowers were;
Lonely, apart, unyielding, one fir;
And over it softly leaning down,
One star that I loved ere the
fields went brown
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another great piece of poetry from a passionate poet, whose words flow like liquid mercury - thick and smooth flow into the soul of the reader.