Early on a fine morning in June,
everything so still, the air
as if air had just been invented,
carrying scents, and
taste, and touch, and sparkling clarity -
it could even be singing to my contented listening;
cool air, waiting to be warmed by the sun;
at this magic hour, it matters not whether
countryside or town;
and I'm suddenly, unexpectedly
filled with the nobility of life -
and simulteously, or perhaps just after it,
humility...
and this strange, agreeable pair, I bask in,
live and move and have my being,
this fine morning in June
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
and it only took you one day before June ended to appreciate this fine (and my birth) month! Better late than never.