Lost in thought, I've looked for other
Undiscovered foreign land,
Mindlessly, I've crushed the clover -
Head by head.
Thus, in distant sultry summer,
In the field of rye and wheat,
Death will mindlessly dissever -
My own head.
- Marina Tsvetaeva,1936
Trans. Vic Postnikov,2011
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem