In my open stage of dream,
I sleep for this puff of spring
Which strokes my hair and skin
With a kiss of air
By whispers of wings.
Then I turn to see
This stem-less bud
Rest on clouds and mist.
And here I try and pluck him
From the garden of my dreams
This silent dropp of blue and green-
But he blooms in rainbow fleet.
A seamless break
Into the sky, and he is gone,
Only to return on closing winter's Eve.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How lovely. It makes me think of the magic of my garden in the spring when the humming birds come to drink from the 'Ladies in Red' while the butterflies spring forth from their cocoons as their caterpillar brothers and sisters eat the tender dill sprigs with my blessings.