Basqueland Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
Basqueland
The hillside brims with chalk white houses;
Deep red shutters contain cow's blood.
Basque rouge, say the neighboring French.
Dark woolen berets on weathered, long nosed faces,
Talk of whaling and cod and pil-pil.
Ancient language, ancient people
Gather around the old oak, its leaves now turning.
This land without a place on any map,
Waits in green gold patience.
It's autumn in Basqueland.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/7/2026 11:58:43 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
