Glen Masan:
White its stalks of tall wild garlic.
Uneasy was our sleep
Above the long-maned firth of Masan.
If you ever come, love, come discreetly.
Come to the door that makes no creaking.
If my father asks me who are your people,
I'll tell him you are the wind in the treetops.
trans. Liam Mac Con Iomaire and Tim Robinson in Graveyard Clay
William Trost Richards
No comments:
Post a Comment