i did not see an owl, i was not at all
careful about what the color of the path was,
i know it was dusk, but i forgot the color
if it was purple or gray,
i did not notice if the owl stirred, whether a fine dust
fell from its wings,
i was whistling, and there were
drunkards singing, and the morning came
i did not feel if the owl quavered, or what,
i am not as sensitive and as eloquent as you,
the light fell, and the path
was dirty.That all that i saw.
This is your copy from a
daring copycat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem