there is pretty swallow
whispers to farmers ears
when rain, rain comes
by swiftly flying very low
almost touching ground
one day she hits barb wire
i was waiting for same
but never came to me
i end up walking to sea
listening to drifting mist
i raise my hand, got wet
seaweeds is like carpet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem