A pity it is evening, yet
I do love the water of this spring
seeing how clear it is, how clean;
rays of sunset gleam on it,
lighting up its ripples, making it
one with those who travel
the roads; I turn and face
the moon; sing it a song, then
listen to the sound of the wind
amongst the pines.
This poem is categorized as spring (the season) in this collection - but it's about a spring of water. Perhaps the poet wrote it in the spring of the year. I can guess that, anyway; one in four are the odds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A perfect gel with the nature.