I used to walk by the morning barley fields
On a Sunday evening of spring
Ahead was a patch of tall oaks unconcealed
Further was a river t whom rocks I fling
Lost in my ecstasy
I fall beside the brook
Hope these are not the last to see
And Monday shook
My slumber of nature's miracles
I encumber the folly of many
The fall of timber and break of shackles
The weather was rainy
On Monday the scenic spectacle faded away
I am feeling so lonely
Lost on the murky darkness today
I may collapse surely
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem