they die and they grow
and they repeat this cycle all over again
even if we are finally gone and buried underneath them.
i know how they are tended and burned,
i like how they spread far and wide and become the green coat of the
mountains again.
what i cannot understand is the departure of two lovers
who slept once under the moon on a dark night on that same grass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem