Stepping on organic sponge
I moved into the wonderland.
A gauntlet of fir and pine
shadowed the flowers and vines.
The quiet was a subdued din,
sort of felt and heard within.
I lifted my spirit to inquire,
'What voices are in this choir? '
A cricket's chirp, a gentle breeze,
a rubbing branch, rustling leaves,
a robin's song, bees in flight,
joyful sounds, wondrous sights!
A special treat upon my senses,
in a meadow without fences,
with pillars offering a fragrant smell.
Guardian sentinels declaring, 'All is well! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem