Sleep, my son, and dream of when
we will trace the alpine glens,
and walk upon the wildest ways
where bears have trod, but seldom men.
Sleep, and dream of future days
when we will stand face to face
across a rushing mountain stream
and laughing, lunge across the spray.
We'll pick our way through talus seams
hear glaciers crack and eagle screams;
beneath the harvest moon we'll spend
our nights and share coyote dreams.
We will walk together then
in the silent ways of men,
side by side upon the trail
o'er sunswept peaks and murky fens.
In far off days we will stand
toe to toe, as man to man
and I shall pause as you pass by
to watch with silent, father's pride.
So sleep in slumber's rest my son,
and lay your head my chest upon;
and as I listen to you breathe,
I will dream of days to come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem