A vagabond
Rests awhile
Atop green movements
Of pasture.
Meadows
Grasp their silence
In tune
To the tract of land
Above this shelter
Of feeding cattle.
The scenery is clear.
Mountain peaks raise freely
Their heads
In view
Of heaven's dominance.
There is still
A lighter shade
And color
In the dark half
Of the horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem