the river is high and muddy
the winter rains are falling
the delta fog is like the sea
the air this time of year
is wet and cold and dreary
the gray woods are silent
I pause at the top of the hill
I hear the scream of the mill
and the rumble of a train
the whistle of a wood duck
streaks past my hiding place
and memory lights a fire
I do not miss this dismal view
I miss its empty solitude
its comfort for somber moods
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A lovely presentation of solitude. A perfect atmosphere you have created. It's easy to fall into a nostalgic mood.
I would go back to those lonely childhood hills if I could. Thanks as always Nosheen.