The August sun lay palely on your stone walls
Telegraph wires hung limp from post to post
The clouds like ragged tablecloths
Laid on the serene blue table of their host
Your hedgerows now gangly adolescents
Outgrown of their Summer flush
Self-conscious guardians of their neighbouring ditches
Providors of safe haven to chaffinch and thrush
The growing sense of it all being over
That this core of the year has to die
To be left with only a sad farewell
Haymaking's solemn kiss goodbye
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem