we have walked this path, you and I,
along the ribbons of old sea walls
and threads of muddy tracks.
how many times have we stood right here,
watching foaming water sluice
beneath our feet on its journey to the sea?
the course of the old creek is dry; dead sunflower
heads nod among cabbages gone to seed
and I am alone in all this whispering quiet.
a plantation of stunted marshland trees
are yellow with encrusted lichen
you would love to see and touch, but can't.
From where you lie now, can you hear
the piping call of curlew and braying
of geese as they test the air?
Today I walked the paths we often walked
together. I've done it now, broken my own
taboo, but I shan't hurry back unless to you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem