Back home again, I strolled the fields
Where I once roamed, in childhood days,
When bush and flowers, even weeds
Spelled beauty, in the sun's first rays.
But now the pampas grass is thin;
The wild rose has grown subtly old;
Bush-clover nods unsteady head
As over earth steals stealthy cold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem