Usually this guy doesn't sing the blues.
Let the rain fall in sheets
in the woods behind the cabin
Let the flies bite until blood runs
A real bitch walking the trails then
down to the North Branch
where my labrador and I hunt
the pesky will of the wisp
in the dense woods
of the Saginaw
like red-blooded braves
seeking salvation
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem