The sea of ocean,
An ocean of grass;
Each wave is moving
In a sacred mass.
A twirl of
An enchanting hue,
Green clashing
Against the blue.
Each and every
Single blade,
Bows in a chorus
The wind has made.
A smell of summer
Season Air,
Rolls the midland sea
Without despair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice, it is starting to green up here in the midlands, so our green oceans will be swaying to the beat of the sumer winds. T