A brushstroke on the lake
Made by dying leaves
In autumn;
Sinking to its depths,
Taking refuge from the light.
Visions cast upon the waters,
Colors seeking for the darkness,
For the grays that winter offers –
Germinating in its womb
Budding greens that are to come.
(January 2005)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem