Above
a ripening field
of wind blown wheat
a lark
whirls
in undulating spirals
revealing
first
dark-streaked wings
and then
a white trimmed tail
dancing lyrically
across a freely painted sky
simultaneously
delivering a vigorous stream
of high clear notes
this master of song
fills the scene with hope
scarcely marred
by the foreground
of stubble
indicating
the reaper
has come
and gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem