The creeks are angry.
In a turbulent mood.
Their spitting froth and fury
In a swelling muscled move.
They stand and rant
At solid stone
With erosion on their breath.
They crowd and claw
The loins of sand
Which bleed a roiled brown.
Such intoxicating power.
But do not relent my riverbanks
Protest in to the night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem