The cinder pots chide
in day among the sprouts
I hide
you an amazing sparkle
having touched upon grace
I am no longer gentle but warm
to reach the dust
I incline that I must
never part with this day
my best knit wishes
for closet fame in the murk
is the endless dust I puff
off your footsteps through my heart
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem