O we plant 'precise' words on pure white pages,
Whilst we uproot the wise teachings of earth,
And lose the vitality of Creation!
We cling to hardened concepts, whose only worth
Is to cruelly conquer more territory,
And divest Nature of her enchanted voice.
Now ancestral knowledge is but a lost dream.
The vintage days of gold and green are destroyed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem