It grows dark;
the weather looks grim.
When birds take shelter,
a storm is coming in.
Skies turn gray
and black and blue,
as if bruised
by the thunder
come crashing through.
Rains wash the day
and clean earth’s plate,
as nature sings and dances
to the symphony she creates.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem