chilly mist still clings to Dalat's streets
then suddenly a golden blaze of petals
rising from the highland
i came from the prairie holding stories in my hands
you belong here, too, the wildflowers whispered
they grow without needing, permission or praise
each petal is a quiet defiance against the cold winds
between the rice field songs and the tranquility of highlands
i learned to bloom gently and stay happy in the light
brief is its life but how it endures
each year bloom a soft vow to begin again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem