There is work involved, but not for a little while.
There was the rush of travel, jostle; but a little while ago.
Now there is placid water, reflections broken
Only by the wake of a coot, and the city roar
Is duller here by the canal. Me, and still water,
And a coot, bright against the black tunnel mouth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem