Funnelling the drops onto
Beggarly plant life
Ditch-drab Arum seen anew.
What is it propers of ferns'
Graceful-tipped handouts
Each scowling passer-by learns!
Brickwork steps have felt the falls'
Far-off influence.
Grounds echo forested halls.
Each wet sound of leaf-stepping
Tells, for gusting, what
As storm-orphan, is left in.
In snail's watery-eyed creep
Or tree-frog's moist stare
What is it brings me to weep?
Their's is every just claim ran
For a greening earth
Of the mild, abashed of Man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem