if I could choose a time to die
then it would be in summer
the heat of noon is tempered by
a rumbling distant drummer
the blazing sun is muted then
as darkness roils the sky
spring's bloom and orchids fade
and wilt but never sigh
they nor men can know the hour
they shed a final tear
in summer flowers must submit
their spirit freed from fear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem