The sun slanted through bare trees
Forming zebra-stripes on the grass
Empty branches shifted in the breeze
Over ground glued in sodden mass;
Poking hardy froth of plants still seen
Through debris of leaves and twigs,
Drinking of Summer’s juices green
One last despairing swig;
The path ahead ridged and displaced
By tree roots’ underground lance,
Their search for water traced
Like footsteps in a hidden dance;
And, drifting from over the hill,
On the wings of the sooty crow
Playground laughter and trill
That uplifts the spirits so.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem