On a low cliff of sand on clay
Above water that hurries by
A small old hill, perfect that day
A child's own for a while
Yet, still there today, set out one morn
Down narrow roads, busier too
Hedges crowned with aged thorn
30 quiet minutes by foot
Sit on the top of hill on hill
Look to the west once more
Listen for the drop, the wind is still
Then gently, with care, there pour
And remember a day of sun on face
Of wind in hair and gull in eye
shorter of leg yet swifter in race
Of childhoods and goodbye
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good one and soothing write.