A drizzling begins.
Apart footpath's climb
Up-panting, languishing with those seeds held;
Thoughts, shunned Love's Spring-time.
And would'nt you know!
What hangs too moist o'er
For fushia, hydrangea, and what brushes
For sage, soggier.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem