The sigh of the wind
doesn't stop
between the branches of the pine
made wet by the sky
and still the birds sing
because winter is far away
and they know that the sun
will soon come back.
I sit and wait
on the hardened sand
for the scent of the sea
to slowly rise
while around the boats
with the reflections of the light
dance and tell
symphonies of Spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem