Along that wild figs great bough
The dog baboon advances now
With nonchalant stride and easy pride
As only baboons know how.
And in his calm, unhurried quest
He pauses first to take a rest
And have a scratch and then catch
The morning sun as arrive the rest.
He knows that the sun-ripened figs
Are borne on the most slender twigs
And of his troop, the lighter group
Fares better in those flimsy rigs
Clutching firm to the swaying limb
He gathers ripe fruits close to him.
And at leisurely pace he feeds is face,
Working around the outer rim.
Presently when he's had his fill,
His nonchalant air is with him still,
With barking voice he takes his choice
Of maiden fair and works his will.
And in his wild life divine
He leans back in supine recline
And boldly declares by the look that he wears:
Lo, all that I behold is mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's very interesting.... it easily draws a picture in the mind of a reader...like it as well