A new moon rises in an old poem,
And leans upon my window.
Her graceful smiles mellow
My osmanthus to bloom.
Thro’ highway I speed fast
After her charming peers.
She slips to the forest
Of neon-lighted skyscrapers.
Again, on my table
I see her back,
Quiet, toasted and small,
A piece of fresh cake.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem