Time flies...
Without finding anything called blue
Or a golden glow of evening sky;
We find no sky, no cloud even,
Only hears the sound of an airplane
Flying somewhere over the buildings,
Over our lives, concealed in a metropolis;
And that's the maiden way,
We can guess: There may be the sky!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And that's the maiden way, We can guess: There may be the sky!