The echo of calming rainfall,
falling like white dots off snowcaps
upon giant leaves and smaller alike,
natures prowess ne're be measured
by any less than the human sense
of sight, sound, and touch...
and the scent that surrounds
an after-light that always arrives
with a dampness, one can almost taste.
Here the breeze pass your lobe,
as gentle as the mist
suddenly appearing as stardust
upon green blades against the new sun.
FjR-MMXVI
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I would like to translate this poem