Like Emersonian transcendentalist, I can feel you my dear,
Here, there, almost everywhere,
In the tender blades of grass, in the smile of a baby,
And the whisper breezy.
When my bare feet touch the earth,
The coldness brings with it your warmth,
The cuckoo makes me miss your voice,
I don't blame it for reminding you rather express thanks.
The butterflies carry your soft kisses for me,
The moon gets jealous; looking at her it's you I see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem