My head bowed down,
in the dewy morn'.
To turn the soil,
with my gifted horn.
With the setting moon,
the sun shall rise.
There in the light,
I bear no disguise.
My forehead stained,
by the grass and dirt.
My mouth is filled,
with wildflowers and earth.
With humbled heart,
and by natures design.
There is very little,
I long for as mine.
When the evening hues,
Darken and dim.
I begin my search,
for my desire within.
Lifting my head,
horns to the heavens high.
Hoping to catch,
the lions eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem