Is it the snake sneaking?
In the grove sylvan
It is but the river
Welcome by the trees
Greeting with dropping flowers
Night tries hatching
The moon-egg
In the attempt abortive
Sheds the dew-tears
Poor night-hen!
As the dark florist sea
Trying to sell surf-flowers,
None to smell and buy!
The writhing sea wails
Alas!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem