Feet are for foresters who feel open fields,
Their walk comes along with their crawling;
The trunks of the trees may be shields
Like the weapons and axes dwindling.
My feet are of the forest, the forest and plains,
To see a weather of the poor,
The weather shall rise with the sun and brains,
The look of the snow is to adore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem