somewhere there must be a defense
there must be that quiet place
a defense against a ruthless world
there is a valley between the hills
a stream flows along the woods
and divides them from the meadow
the fruit trees are heavy with apples
the setting sun throws its shadows
and the only sound is the cool breeze
the old frame house is painted white
someone watches as night descends
the children will soon be fast asleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That's a perfect home for me. You have painted such a beautiful picture that i long to be at the place.
Thanks Nosheen. It's where I grew up - not unlike the picture.