It's always black
When the sun drops down
Until the stars attack
The unaware sky
The moon creeps out
Leaving the blocking cloud
With the night now lit up
The crickets jump in a crowd
No violas, No violins
Only one instrument
The cricket’s crick
Music better than an orchestra
Everything good must end
And the frog knows this well
Some crickets flee, others defend
The crickets left to die in the end
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem