a season for sowing
good tidings
and good will
the fields are clean
the sky is bright
the air is filled
with mists
we bury what good we have
inside our hearts
we let the soil bid time
we make room for growth
we wait for many moons
we dream with the stars
we anticipate the next to come
that season for harvest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem