five fishing poles
hanging by wharfs
lines cutting ripples
inviting fish to nibble
crabs nip bit by bit
seagulls pick muzzles
from rising rocks
fly up and let it drop
eat meat with loud ark
a man sits there waiting
letting those time ticking
he hasn't caught one, happy
he passed time peacefully
grab his chair; rock slowly
he is enjoying, telling story
even forgets fish are ready
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sounds like a beautiful day, like this beautiful poem. T.