Dream, dream, this wonderful mind,
of those sweet corn fields and endless stream,
bathing in sun and in the moonlight,
I once strolled from morn to eve.
Where the wandering winds whip the dew,
and they fly sparkling a rich scent,
birds come and nest on the ancient tree,
beneath, a hut stands with my roots deep.
Hum with the silence, as nears twilight,
unwavering eyes look far at the boundary,
it gets chilly, when approaches the night,
but I'm still warm even in imaginary.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem