I shall foot it 
Down the roadway in the dusk, 
Where shapes of hunger wander 
And the fugitives of pain go by. 
I shall foot it 
In the silence of the morning, 
See the night slur into dawn, 
Hear the slow great winds arise 
Where tall trees flank the way 
And shoulder toward the sky. 
The broken boulders by the road 
Shall not commemorate my ruin. 
Regret shall be the gravel under foot. 
I shall watch for 
Slim birds swift of wing 
That go where wind and ranks of thunder 
Drive the wild processionals of rain. 
The dust of the traveled road 
Shall touch my hands and face.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem