In the morning
While the pasture is misted with light green
In one factory
Many sheep are out one by one
Solemnly the scale sounds
Not stopping the cold rain
On the sheared throat
Putting the knife
Sheep bleat
It's raining below the low sky
Bloodily
It rains on my throat
It chills the grass
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Kae it could be many are the rings the bell might sing of..simple harvest of the islands dell..a child thats taken before it's time..an oceans wasted wave that never tastes the shore with wind..it is many are the things inside the mind of Kae...iip