When I was a child I'd run down the hill
not far from the house, to play beside a stream
then work up the valley to the place
where the eye broached from under a rock.
There clear spring water seeped and oozed
dripped into a small pool; stirred the air
cool, dark and green above moss, fern
and damp pebbles, as I'd watch and listen,
when I was a child.
Watch and listen with me now.At the broach
of the eye is a slow seep, the air stirs,
a growing dampness darkens pebbles
to a cool glisten of clear, sharp movement
as droplets gather in the font.
Sip from soft, small cupped hand,
then the long wait for the font to fill
as with child's eager gratitude
I sip and savour my words,
from whence they come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There were such poems on PH way back in 2006. Not any more! The whole place has been invaded by the Ninjuns. You could go mad trying to find someone to appreciate good poetry. Ultimately you write for yourself, and I have not found one place on the Internet where you find only good poetry. Like the Faber Book of Modern Verse. Or Palgrave's Treasury. bit.do/punctuationmarks