My friend the moon has fled from me this day
hot sun to eyes must run.
Fleeing down the path in time a stranger in this
land of time wont dwell.
Village path is plain to see the store where wine
for me the shelf does hold.
Memories washed plain from me the whiteness
of my dress the tree it comforts me.
Land of setting sun must run the whispers have
a hold inside my soul will roam.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem