Plodding through sodden, wild fields
As daylight withdraws and yields;
Flat, vast desolate wastelands glisten,
And draw,
in the dream light.
Our steps grow slow.
As the land's subtle, refreshing aromas,
begin to show,
Rising up to meet our faces,
Filling our essences.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem