Behind the barn house,
a rain cloud sends its dowse,
right on a pair of sage grouse,
they scurry off from weathers rouse,
behind another sage brush to browse,
pruning, priming feathers and brows,
pointy feet, pointy tails the dance allows,
groups of males strut, that pompous gait, espouse,
females, observe, the most handsome, mate to announce.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem