Fields of blue;
The considered champaign
Of the farmer;
The beautiful profit.
Azure acres
To the eyes' limit,
The sky's limit;
Blue on blue.
Destruction there,
Somewhere,
In the fires
Of the forest grass
Approaching.
Black smoke,
The Horned Beast.
The horns as pincers,
Encircling the land.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem