I'd rather be upon the hillside,
when the night mist rolls away,
and watch the sky run into scarlet,
at the start of such a day,
I'd rather be beside the rushes,
where the lonely peeper pleads,
and the flashing red wing blackbird,
sings his soul into the reeds.
I'd rather be within the woodland,
on some wild and winding way,
to have a talk with solitude,
and see what he has to say.
I'd rather be where misty willow,
goes to stand down by the stream,
dip his toe into the water,
and dream his willow dream.
I'd rather be upon the meadow,
when the fireflies come to play,
and watch the sky run into scarlet,
at the end of such a day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem