I long to run through fields
That turn into meadows
That change into pine trees
Each step that I'd take
Would make
The sound of a branch that breaks
An orchestra of birds singing in my ear
The scared and cautious deer
Suddenly disappearing from view
A squirrel running up a tree and stopping
Turning it's head with an acorn in it's hands
Then continuing up the tree
How I long to be there again
In the forest amongst the real world
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem