In a scented wood
an owl is calling
over the resting land
the night is falling
The air is sweet
with the scent of may
the birds are asleep
waiting for day....
In the purple night
no showing of light
a breeze is blowing
rustling the tree leaves
with a soft little sigh.
The owl is so still
giving a soft little shrill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very mind feeling poem. You wrote very well.