Here's the wheat spikes
in the first dawn joyful hours;
Loosen her braids while
dew slips above her neck,
roaming up and down,
approaching slightly
as a nightingale song,
or as adorer towards
those golden homes.
Here's the wheat spikes
in the first dawn joyful hours;
Loosen braids..
like a 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