Dear willow, please tell me what I should do,
When the evening sky has lost its hue,
And winter’s sacred white is overdue?
Say willow, say that I can never be
One dancing among many like a bee
Chasing honey round an evergreen tree.
Sing willow, let’s sing and share in our sorrow,
Till my hair grows grey and your leaves turn yellow;
Let’s reckon that which attends every morrow.
But willow, you know you have much less reason:
The meek rill seeks to your heavy boughs christen,
While the bright, steady stars over you glisten.
You need not sing, willow, but only listen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem