mar dhaorach shlat
le’m braon dubh dhearc
tha choille ìseal seo
na breacan stròigh
na raip air gnùis
an iongnaidh òig,
de shùgh cho sileach ri
eas mear nach traogh
ged nach b’ann còir
do bheannachd sguilb,
mar làmhan fuar an uilc,
tha fial na d’ luchd
phreas nan tàladh
mar ròsan dubh,
crios do bhrìd nan dàn
air latha cur |
in drunken canes,
black berry fogged,
this low-level forest’s
a prodigal plaid
smear on the face
of youthful wonder,
juice as fluid as
unquenchable bright streams
though your welcoming thorns,
(cold hands that hurt)
may not be kind,
your freight is profuse
enticing bush,
your black roses,
goddess bride’s girdle
on the day of sowing |