Another bright morning fair
Broken free from the grasping sea,
Carrying drifts of glacial air
Beckoning to me;
We watch the lines waiting in the yard
With their back-packs and low shoulders,
We know that life will be hard
Full of angry rocks and boulders;
But they know nought yet
And in there lies the clue,
Our challenge to them is set
Knowing they will get through;
And, as the bell clangs and seagulls cry
Tingling our remembering skin,
The lines disappear inside
Carrying our hopes within
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem