At daybreak on the dusty meadow road
a swift horse shakes its ferocious mane–
a young lad’s returning his home again.
Ah where’s the nook where I was born?
In the meadow waste, ey far in the dark
a flickering fire–travellers settle for the night,–
‘mid laughter’s din they’re going home.
Ah where’s the nook where I was born?
It’s been three days, the rain doesn’t stop,
sullen autumn lowers over the earth–
pain and darkness squeeze my heart.
Ah where’s the nook where I was born?
translated by Christopher Buxton
Leonard Durso 
Reblogged this on From 1 Blogger 2 Another.
Thanks for reblogging this.
You bet friend! BTW I would like to use on my AoQ blog a quote from your recent interview (which by the way was great to read). OK by you?
I’m flattered that you want to quote me. Thank you. Feel free to.