When dusk creeps through the windows
with the big old oak tree etched against the sky,
the eastern horizon gleams outside,
the morning star hangs is a beacon that bridges the night,
while the golden moon fades away
with the big old oak tree etched against the sky
the night is driven away, chased
by the sun rising burning
while the golden moon fades away,
the morning is fresh like an unfolding flower
while the birds, the insects, the animals are woken
by the sun rising burning
with blinding white light, stretching out its rays
and I am getting awake
while the birds, the insects, the animals are woken
and the day has already belted its gleaming chord.
When dusk creeps through the windows
and I am getting awake
the eastern horizon gleams outside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem