Shant not the world be covered in death, vague, cruel, and forbidden.
I toil, and scrape the land beneath my feet, yet nothing grows.
I water, and water, but the ground stays dry.
I seed the earth, but nothing lives.
I talk to the plants, but they ignore me.
I cry to the trees, but the simply shake in reply.
Days and nights pass so fast, the moon is full and the sun has gone.
Waters beat against the shores, and clean away that which is no longer.
Are we so different, or are we the same as that which surrounds us?
We are all zipher of land, and shall forever be under its spell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is very good. Reminds me of the words from the great Indian Chief that the city of Seattle was named after. I love the feel of this. Please add a 'y' to the in line seven. Thanks Herbert