After the fog
All around
One can see,
Silhouettes
Of trees.
Hazy fog, beauty,
Beauty, beauty…
Listen well,
Can be heard,
Birds singing:
"Spring, spring."
Suddenly,
And shocking,
Something comes,
It moves by crawling.
A train is rolling,
On metal, or railing.
Hundreds of wagons
Closing sight like a wall,
Dead colors, very dull.
Yes, modern, but ugly!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem