For as the moon rises
and sun melts away,
and the wind becomes lost in the trees,
The solemn expression of hope
thereafter will be
verdantly planted as seeds.
When the winter wind breathes,
And summer birds die,
Those seeds that ascend the ground will...
Banter the odor of the winter
wind's breath as the songs the birds played
echo still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem