Sniper of the woods
The woods are burning
But not with fire
But with the ire
Of storm, hail, hoar and rain
A cloud of mini-goblins in a train
Passes by
Three hedgehogs cross
The dusty pathway.
The days count themselves
This night
This wood
For
The woods are burning
But not with fire
But with the ire
Of storm, hail, hoar and rain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem