Those stop-off points, as living's preferred
Brought into clear focus!
Stripped of their once a year feeling
What then would be left of us?
Time to quiet breathe; and breathe and breathe.
Relief, that's unvarying.
Mountainy rich blown, say; or sea-spiced.
'Dullness' unfound cities in!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem