Well besides the line
Of the old trees
A wandering runnel
flows toward beneath
clouds piled above
removed their fluff
because the shiny sun
decided to see
The roundness of her
Beauty, in the mirror
Of the clean water
That sings murmuring
But, the roar of stream
Just ruined her dream
She asked it to rest
For a little breath
The river explained
By a lucid claim
I'm always willing
To see your gleam
So be satisfied
To see my flow
Let me be your dream
As you are my dream
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very lovely! 5 stars.