Who's that?
Why it comes to me?
It's the only colour of a cloudy afternoon,
There's no talking, no waving, even it forgets to fly,
It's so quiet, endless quietness.
Now, it's breathing, one thousand years before
It's happily flying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like this. It makes a change.good write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, running wolf.