In the late afternoon and twilight,
Garden flowers glow in the night.
Footbal pitch still visible in no light,
Every night with the stars under the moonlight.
Rain pours down penetrating the ground,
It's juiciness or tenderness.
He may love just one more of that dripping wet water,
Someone may even hate rains splash or touch.
Garden flowers and grass,
In the late afternoon and daylight.
Rain slowly ventures with a dramatic entrance,
'I would love to be liked or disliked'.
Rain did not have an appointment,
As night and day, rain poured away.
And never did it hurt a single soul, even until it's last breath, a near death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There are some nice scenery you painted here but what i get most from this poem, your different view about rain, and how life reflected from it
thank you