I repeat it again:
dear friend
don’t despair
no matter what.
Even if you are a late-autumn date-tree,
deprived of your wealth,
your last leaf
wrested by merciless gusts,
your pure naive face,
disfigured by life’s knife.
Even if you have lost everything
you still have
much love, much hope.
They are not idle in the hidden world,
but have married, given birth to star-like sprouts.
Do nothing but give them time,
patience, so their offspring
may solemnly step into the visible world
in tender green form.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem