Let's take a stroll. Mindful
Each hilly step
But leads ever closer
To a saint's rest.
Cloudy pillowed; above
Herd's grassed request!
You, I. That world-detached.
If yet fleshed round.
In Heaven, whilst short of
Breathing our last.
There to stay. Till hunger
Catches up fast.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem