The light is restless.
It pounces on the hill,
Lets go, hugs it again
With lessened ardour
And then abandons it.
The hill is promiscuous;
It welcomes light and dark
And all shades in between.
Its mauve responds
To modulated moods.
Its glossy green and pallor,
Its mossy green and shadow,
Its darker conifers and crags,
Its cloud halo and snow,
Shine changeably like us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem