When the lake holds the sky and trees
rippling magically in autumn breeze
like a pallet holding and blending
hues and shades never-ending,
then will I stir you, as if forever young,
with eye and hand and tongue,
and love you in ways various and new
that our moments fleeting and few
will be held eternally
on the canvas of our memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem