A little plant stands alone
at the bank of an endless river
a queue of mountains he watches everyday
whose company seems very far away
but when evening marks the beginning of night
a gathering of twinkling stars
and the bright moon, sitting majestically
with a background color of darkness in the sky
seeing this he wonders if
his roots are still fixed in ground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem