The warm sun rises o`er the mountains,
Over pinnacles and peaks,
Over crags and over cannons
Spilling light into the valley,
Spilling light into forest,
Filters through pines and birch trees
Making patterns on the carpet,
On the needle, leafy carpet,
That the very trees have made.
Spilling light onto the waters
On the quiet icy waters,
Waters swelled by melting snow
Laps the shore below the forest,
Laps the shore above village,
On it`s face the sun goes dancing,
From it`s depth a trout leaps high,
Intent on finding food for feeding,
Or leaping just to greet the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lyrical...sholarly poem...exuding the effects of ur age and wisdom.....kudos