"There's no sense in going further --
it's the edge of cultivation,"
So they said, and I believed it --
broke my land and sowed my crop --
Built my barns and strung my fences
in the little border station
Tucked away below the foothills
where the trails run out and stop.
Till a voice, as bad as Conscience,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem