Classic Poem

The summer wasn't over yet.
On the way to the lighthouse
I thought of the darkened branches of
the pasania tree on the rock,
of various human beings,
of the bird country,
thought as I walked
of the story of the " old man of the sea "
drinking a nut liquor on someone's shoulders,
of the story of the " hemp-beater "
whom Renan, the scholar who wrote the life of Christ
saw in his boyhood,
and of other things various human beings said.
I looked in a bush, thinking, " It certainly must be there, "
and there it still was
the garish, poisonous-looking blue of spiderwort.
The water-pepper had turned feeble.
Before going into the tunnel penetrating the rock mountain
I saw a tree called tobera hanging branches from the cliff,
pulled off a twig bearing nuts,
and cracked a green nut as hard as a plum stone.
Many seeds as red as a Persian rug
were hiding in its core.
I felt terribly sorry
that I surprised the lovely lives
living happily in the dark.
One shouldn't expose such a lonely secret of nature.
They must have wanted to remain
hidden in that dark.
I began again to think of human beings, rocks, plants
and walk along the way to the lighthouse.