tracking object up above
faster than usual clouds
can't be commercial plane
nor jet from air force base
too high, almost kissing sky
no after-burning, streaking
i saw so few of those back
when i laid my back on hay
counting my days work to be
i paint my dreams up there
maybe you too has this fare
you're sitting dreaming dear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem