Down by the hundred flowers my friend asked for a reply
Within the garden to behold, within the square of funny oars;
My friend bid me take flowery work with compassion,
Living with the shoots and shrubs so delicate and styled.
My friend talked like a soul so overpowered by the evil weather,
But my friendship lasted as much as the rain,
That went into a spitting and dying once again,
Little rains were an event of the stars overhead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem