My pan flute is singing
A sweetest rain melody,
- Gently gently worrying
What's it going to be...
A life so raw and wild,
Or a concreting stone, build;
Which doesn't tread nature mild,
- Or seeds which are getting spilled.
A suffering greenly heart
With freshness of the unborn,
Will it from earth now depart,
And dry up like a concrete corn?
My pan flute is singing
A sweetest rain forest melody,
- Gently gently worrying
What's it going to be...
Human kindness suffering
Because it longs for nature still,
While our self is bluffing:
It needs new ways to fill.
An unclear destiny...
Which no one has gone before,
An unknown concrete melody,
Its tune not known for sure.
While my pan flute is singing,
A sweetest rain forest melody;
Eternally on ringing,
What's it going to be... what's it going to be?
Please tell the world,
It's waiting... the joy of green!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem