Twisted paths and rippling earth,
packed-dirt roads run off to dearth
travelers wander, heat sears skin, water boils from within
canteens of thick, waxed leather.
A lone rover travels north,
following the stars to move forth,
swathed in cloth, hide, and gear
she hopes her destination appears
before she collapses and disappears
into a scavenger's jaw.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem