The willow leaf is like a yellow boat
Floating upon the loch's impassive face
And one by one to earth bright tumblers race
Where solitary squirrel hides a cone
And insects nibble leaves like Flemish lace
The frosty moon is a white marble stone
The dying flights of small blue butterflies
Founder in woodland in some gloomy zone
A fox peers round with burning ember eyes
A badger bares his teeth at skittish dog
This is the witching season of strange skies
Now streams run cold enough to freeze the dead
And sunset stains each evening cloud blood red
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem