The bog is now conservation land in Woburn, Ma USA. The old house, built about 1870 is my brother's home. According to a neighbor the house used to be a boat house.
By the Aberjona River once cranberries were growing.
Many treasured, sunshiny trees still are astonishing.
This land, where the harvested berries were taken to markets,
Is now a keepsake in the city like a jeweled locket.
Don't miss the songbirds flying up high in the pretty blue sky
Or pure evergreens and the white birches bending with a sigh.
A blue house is there where holidays we visited and talked.
Just think we can go amoung the woodlands for a peaceful walk.
A patch of rich history was told by a closeby neighbor
Who remembered the bog long ago as a place of labor.
Sometimes red winged blackbirds marvelously in the bright sun sing.
I happily wonder what to the sunny woods I can bring.
This dear land with beauty casts a dreamlike, magnificent spell
And the Aberjona and the land have old stories to tell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem