Just now he stood neath the shadow of a tree
The sand-storm of summer driven him restlessly
day after day
Fountain, no sign of fountain, long way to go..
Now how he would wheedle thrust?
The shadow said mingling a bit of light,
"No Trick required for wheedling
Have to run
Run away
Never known who makes run."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem