Here's the wheat spikes
in the first dawn joyful hours,
Loosen her braids,
while dew, slips above her neck,
roaming up, down and
approaching slightly as a nightingale's song
or as adorer towards those golden homes.
Here's the wheat spikes
in the first dawn joyful hours;
Loosen charming breezes
So why - as a gloomy cloud
my heart wither?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem