ASLEEP IN THE WOODLAND
Across the eternal expanse of dawn
Crimson hued breezes pass over a stream.
In golden rays a soldier appears to dream,
In a bed of grass, on an amber lawn.
There is solemn rest in the swarming air.
Quiet, his mouth is open, his gaze is half closed.
Seemingly he is slumbering at peace, composed.
Yet he doesn't seem to notice a nearby daffodil.
The summer lights sift through the branches soft and red.
But the sun makes no reflection in his eyes
As he lies
There
Still -
With two holes in his head.
John Lars Zwerenz
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem