Scurrying, bleating, to be counted in
From hill to hill, in dews
His rams and ewes.
As pleasing glows, day's end
One's cares descend.
On the heights of God, upon a rock
Heart-barren, another
Sits hunched, unheard.
Through Heaven's gate the calls...
Eve never falls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem