There is a pause to winter,
a blossom in the sunlight.
A single red hibiscus shines
from the still green leaves.
It is as if it wants to speak,
to cry out against the cold.
Still it must relent at last,
ending its defiant gesture.
But now the blossom nods
like a wise old man resting.
The flower and man are one,
eloquent in their silent vigil.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem