I saw a silent statue shake and scratch;
A tawny shadow stirred its stock-still head,
All mottled fawn, behind the cabbage patch.
Deep in the middle of the flowerbed,
Half hidden in her hole, beneath a bush,
The pheasant scraped her nest next to the shed.
All pillow-plump, with feathers fine and plush,
She nestled down to match the bare, brown ground
In camouflage, flecked as a missel thrush.
The broody hen has hunted round and found
Her refuge where, cocooned, her brood will hatch
In this soft earthen covert, safe and sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem