dusk in the isle of inch
waiting for the moon
takeing wing and rising
to meet the wild goose
with others forming a V
for a flight in moon light
soaring above Ireland
as the moon drifts
and the sea groans
in a deep bed far below
after hours of flight as
the sun rises parting
without a sound
flying homeward upon
the wind's crest
bringing to a conclusion
an imaginary journey
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem