"I've made many mistakes, dear Gods of old.
For this sunset is neither pretty nor plain
This sunset is Shiva; who's blaze grown bold
Threatens the sky with ash and dust, dark disdain."
"Alas Shiva is not my dearest Autumn,
Nor is this sunset my evening solemn."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem