The tall rocks standing grate on grate,
The ones refusing to swim,
Drowning ducking confident,
Appearing confident to swim.
Lost for space and populating,
Competing with next door,
The less-grey delaying to compete,
Till each descending cannot grow more,
How the silky skinned run smoothly down,
The stream within the island,
Running into whirlpools almost drown,
Down the passage, in the bank,
And further down the stream,
Up and down and standing still,
Dividing at the hill.
Where were the less confident of stones,
Hiding, once and where?
Were the skimming pebbles here,
Too thin to let their neighbours hear.
Descending, barley visible,
Withered, disappearing,
Till they stop and stand at a still,
The confident ones leering
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The confident ones always win, you're right.