I am tired from the toil of the day
Someone else is starting to work
The sun is low as the breeze is cool
And someone hums a song carrying stuff
To build a mud house beside my own
I look up and see him, a tiny waist
Loading mud in his feet and flying with his wings
My neighbour's house looks like an earthenware
Smooth and beautiful
But perching on my wall
I can't say hello to him
Because his tail carries a sting
I am careful because
My neighbour is Mr. wasp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem