to be a child again to see the sunny side of the hill
to walk back and regress to that moment of the first swim
until you learn it and master the feeling only to forget
to finally rest and then recall the picture of the hills
running into a very small plain where someone waits for you
with her all white hair and that weak smile
that softer touch, gentle and dying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem