The long low hills
Blanketed by the Seas
Rolling fog.
As a haste-less light
Sparks the east:
December’s day dawn.
A Sólás river
Flows up the Glen
Renewing the places
That in the shadows had been.
The moment was brief
Still long enough,
Confirming to all
That the New Year
Had begun.
In the light breeze
The Sceach grove waved
As an eerie bark to silence faded.
Towards the West
A lone red fox
Was running.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem