The hills, some ploughed brown, come undulating down, framed by verdant green hedges,
forming the edges, where flocks of crows squawking, are already stalking the tractor.
It’s seen, moving along the tracks in-between the fields neatly sown with wheat to be grown.
After stopping to heap, some food for the sheep that range o’er the fells,
and fresh fertile dells,
its occupant gazes stock-still, in this place so tranquil.
A sheepdog circles around, then on command goes to ground,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem