A bus-ride brought me Hebden Bridge again
This time in summer, though the spiteful clouds
Sheet-shrouding hilltops, half-heavy with rain
This awful August, threatened they dare drown
The valley, garnished green with grass and trees.
A stab of sunlight knifed gold through the grey,
Slug-slab stratocumulus, where the breeze,
Weak as bated butterfly breath, had laid
Pale pocket-handkerchief patches of blue.
A faraway farmstead flickered on for
Several swift seconds, screen-shot into view
Before it faded, lime as lichen or
Ivy, back into the emerald fieldscape
As cloud curtains closed their goggle-box gape.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem