Baptised by early rain
they face up to light.
Upright as old pianos,
kettles boil all day long
while white nets gleam.
One day finer minds
might correlate them
with defunct chapels;
might seek out the lost
people and ask aloud
if the risen sun had
called them to glory.
Tony Noon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem