O modest moon, who
pull up about you
this grey army blanket
fortunately threadbare
I glimpse your palor
through the hastening
troop of clouds
less languid than
peopled day
the silence swaddles
the lamenting bugle
in the cradle of
the remembrance ground
this much I take note
while windscreen wipers
keep impatient time
but this bigger moon
is no busier than
the last, dawdling
and still far, but near
as near as the life
of the engine in my car
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem