The yellow star melts and falls through the green foliage
The canopy of your shade that covers my mind and toiled age
It feels in hot noon, that the rising sun's kid ray,
Lost its way, bumped into my face,
Pushed away, rushed to its parents a little away,
Peeked back with a pony tail,
A smile that said, I am sorry, not your tale.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am sorry, not for tale. thanks. good one.