In the morning's chill
Blue Mountain cuts through the mist
That covers the lake like a featherbed.
Clad in fleecy jackets
Three children crouch on an island rock
That draws the ducks to share their breakfast.
Remembering the evening
Lake sunset soft with calls of loons
I watch the children in the mist
And feel peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem