If let me dream,
Poetry is a piece of the ocean.
Every word is the waves,
each of the genre are ships.
The poet is soaring seagull during the day, night is a good seaman.
Connaught large sea, in ancient times may even calm.
I think at that time, A man with a poetry book, walked past me.
With a smile.
I told him: once I write, rainbows dark clouds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem