The oak and the willow forest
is where I made my dreams abide?
My only permanent home,
watching the stoat and the vole
vanish-like mists down an embankment hole.
You could say I never left,
say I dwelled on a forked river bed-locked Island,
and that's why I took up poetry,
you could say I lived in these abandoned woods,
as I have only unfinished poems as regrets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem