In the distance the small church does lie with the weather vane,
the fishing boats in their dark patches on the beach,
the white bleached houses
in a chord with dried Cape herring
on porch after porch
while in the waves we do go up and down,
feel how the water do wash against us,
while children do frolic on the beach,
do build castles and do watch the girls secretly
and women streched out shining
do face the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem