He looks across fields of corn
with rustling trees in early morn.
Thru his eyes he stares and stares
but I don't see anything there.
Maybe a ghostly shape he's seen
in the past where somebody had been.
Thru his eyes a dog he's seen
thru the wavering corn it's a sight to see.
Out pops a dog and Jasper is keen.
As they frolic and mate as one
I turn my head till the job is done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem