In this still place, a very shower
Is sprayed on the cloth or crust;
Does then the soldier blast the sky
With his discharges, now that he is free?
Behold him! single in the field
Of happy triggers, singing like a trooper
Of shots and disintegration,
Over the pomp and glory of his armistice.
Child of an ignorant war,
His path touches sentinels at the back.
We are in willing admiration
Of his war-like beauty, full of heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem