At dawn, through the open window embrace,
Whispers of weeping voices reach to my bed.
But down the park, to the grove I tread, where
The chorus of insects' hushes, silence spread.
In the heart of the forest, all I see is the night
Mist amidst the deep and serene hushes.
Returning to my high-rise home and lie in bed,
Once again, I can hear the sounds from the bushes.
(20th, Jul.,2023, Kinsley Lee)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem