By Wilfred Owen
Move him into the sun-
A gentle touch woke him up once,
At home, unknown fields whisper to each other.
It always wakes him up, even in France,
Until this snow this morning.
If there's anything to wake him up now
Good old grandson will know.
Think about how it wakes up the seeds,-
Once, it awakened the soil of a cold star.
The limbs, so dear to realize, are lateral,
Full of nerves-still warm-too difficult
Stir?
Is that why clay grows tall?
-Oh, what makes the fatuous sunshine toil
Break the earth's sleep?
Wilfred Owen
Mucaotang translation
Move him to the sun,
The gentle touch had awakened him,
In my hometown, in spring, I whisper in my ear.
It always wakes him up, even in France,
But on this snowy morning, it didn't come.
If someone can wake him up at this time,
Good old grandson should know.
Think about it, it can wake the seeds,
It also awakened the soil of the cold planet.
So it's really worth doing, this skin, this limb,
Elastic and warm, so hard to recover?
Is this why the soil is full of life?
Oh, who makes the fatuous sunshine work,
Disturb the sleep of the earth?