A thousand year old winding pine tree
On the cliff, which is a thousand fathoms high
For a moment, the kite's folding his wings
And sitting on the dragon-like pine
Tree. Even if he is remoted from the world
Far away on the woods of the Bushy tine.
In the sounds of blowing winds
And he dreams to take a flying leap on the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem