The Red Farm
I am riding.
I pass
a red farm.
Everything here is red,
the house,
the shutters,
the stalls,
the dog.
A red sky lies
at the gate.
The trees sleep on red benches
The farmer will come out
in high boots
with a whip in his hand;
he will drive the cows out
into red pastures –
but suddenly a rooster
crowed hoarsely;
the train awoke
and drove away -
and the red farm vanished.
Translated by Barnett Zumoff
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