The door
is half opened.
Under the tree
a shadow
dipping his fingers
in the ink of light
a light spot
like a baby dog
perk his face
and slides down
to catch a shadow.
In the dim, stillness room
behind the door
his looks are eagerly asking
if he can go out
and play too.
An Exotic, sinner, dusk cloud
deleted the scene.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem