The breezes bring here
New joys true and near;
Joys so fresh and green,
With tiny buds clean.
The Sun has much to supply,
The sky's too bright for th' eye;
There the kites try to up run,
For its old, sublime fun.
Sitting on the wooden chair,
I look to the blank air;
My heart is a small vase,
Bursting with colored clause.
April 13th,2013.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem