I was merging to ocean of clover,
I was rounded with fairy bees.
But the wind, blowing out from north, though
Has disclosed the heart childish.
He called me to the struggle in plain leas -
To achieve win at breath of the sky.
He has shown the deserted way there,
Which is going to forest too dark.
I'm going along wavy hills now,
Wearilessly look forward to way,
And in front so joyously going
Childish heart, innocent in its pray.
Let the sleepless eyes get quite tired.
Let the dust turn to red and to sing.
Loving flowers, bees told a tale fine,
Which was not either magic, but real.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem