at this moment
since you arrive late
what you will see
on the blades
of grass are nothing
but dusts
you never really
loved the dew
you never really
wanted to feel
the moist of mists
soon it will be the wriggling worms
underneath they have all the books
most of the words are cold
and likely the sounds too mournful
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem