I open the window.
A day beging with the blus sky,
Reflected on a milk bottle
If a spring of time is coiled up
A bottle of milk will send a person
Who is thirsty.
If a day passes away
A day in a milk bottle turns into
The aroma of coffee
The memory of white milk dries
To the color of coffee
Remaining in my soul
Near the river where the sound of
Rippling waves is heard
The day is wandering without purpose
Without the aim of tommoe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem