This simple wandering, he wont be told
Is a kind of erring.
Far-straying from good sense, to be
To it unanswering.
Each smooth rock's a danger, hatching;
Slily put in his way.
And for blackberry he'll soon lick
Its bloody taste away.
He's all the fresh air, friendly bug's
Droll uses he wants here.
But no; local, deems he right now
The queerest of the queer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem