Dewdrops on the sweet grass
sparkling in the sun,
every little droplet,
every last one
bathes each tiny blade of grass
in the early morn.
Does its wondrous work of joy
as the day is born.
Evaporates and is satisfied
with its job performed.
Goes back to where it's come from
and in someway is transformed
awaiting its precious journey
to once again caress
the leafy wonder on the grass
with its dewy
wetness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem