After so many winters, the summer’s
Sun swims these worn hands and brightens the wine-
Shouldered hills. Coming home, no more going
Far, far away, I bring these memories
To a living end, one to remember.
A horseshoe tops the door of knotty pine,
Still exiles fortune’s shade. Yet home’s steep climb
From the past presents some memoried signs:
Eucalyptus odors, moss-ancient oak-
Once were these lost. Now nostalgia’s sired
Eyes find poppies on a hill’s leafy bed.
Such roots consume me, for they are love’s yoke
Where all’s remembered as strangeness desired.
After so many winters, winter’s dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem