She rests all the time in her garden
laying out a mat under a shady tree
A flask of tea stands behind and a book of poetry
that will never finish.
'Once she had been a beauty queen
now passing a solitary life; a widow and childless.
Recently she celebrated her fiftieth birthday
only with her gardner.
The silence ringing her ears and she heard a whispering of grass
and withered leaves.
a decayed leaf cries; once she had a smooth skin golden
spreading lines, thick flesh as jelly
how many dew drops remained and kissed
butterflies, bees and hornets slept
now a skeleton; good for nothing
but a photographer may seeks'
She got shocked; like a rabbit
cold as marble
finally she decided to get a divorce from her lonliness
and marry the old gardener.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem