There's something eerie to the morning mist
as if the world is closing around us,
about all other things have not a gist
and at the open fields away you rush
leaping through the long grass at a fast pace
while I walk and as a big dog you run
with a kind of amazing flowing grace,
bark at whatever you find in great fun,
its early, the day has hardly begun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem