There was so much moonshine
That the blind could see
They could see and pick sesame grains scattered
That the pigeons did not see in the day
The moon shone, it shone
That the leaves in the night looked like small moons
The moon shone, it shone
That we could pick sewing needles lying under
The shade where we heard Flores
That grandma told us yesterday
The moon shone then unlike
Today the moon has no shine
Thus tangled in climate change.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem