The season is here
On this typical Maiden morn
Of week days
It’s by this hour
Though slightly late
I rose to take my bath
The ointment was done and gone
What’s more was to
Nestle on the well placed
Soft sofa by the corner
Of my reading room
And to await my breakfast
To be served.
Well has been done to the belly
What’s needed (from me) was
After settling on the round
To dress up and find my way
To the lecture room
Alas an indignation
Though a natural inclination
That crept into the scene
When I was about stepping
Out of the room
Here I picked up the cast
Of the rolling sound
Escorted by the heavy gale
At the fore
Of my chamber door
The cloud I glimpsed
Beckoned on these
Natural commotions
The rumbled
Of this morn thunderstorm
Took me by surprise
As I felt the tremble of my abode
As though the roof and the wall would cave in
How heavy this morning rush would be?
Certainly it’s heavy and took charge closely
Three hours of the entire day
Blessing showery hours
Wasn’t it?
That would best be related
In the meantime
By the soaking swamp
The well wet weed
The saturated sea pool
And the colorful field
Of bloom cherries and roses
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem