Hearing the crickets charm
In sigh of inky autumn wind,
a belie in the call they send.
Unabridged song,
Is it a lover
In your unvarying form
To which you deplore? -
Or are one hundred minuscule bickers
Delivered so constant as to drown
Out the other in chafing sound.
In night's gown this song
Is forgotten in ambience.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem