tables and benches beneath
those pines overlooking sea
cones scattered on needles
fruit, most mistaken for bloom
whistling is lone melody around
unless you brought your sound
streetlights, parking lights, bright
no worry only mosquitoes that bite
so nice place to pass some time
eat your lunch and watch them run
read book, play chess, call someone
ideal place but not free for everyone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem