White bones.
Cascade of water Niagara type
And
White
White bones whiter than white of spume
Hoarse Owl Cry Stuck
Stuck in throat in Hastings Gardens.
Wit h sneaky nightingales that rather dream than sing.
And over the high firs the whisper0helmet of the firs
In trees -Lord! Here Beauty lives and stays and breathes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem