He hacked not the honeysuckle fingers
knit to brocade where the light lingers
Her fragrance makes bees
abandon their stingers
while they buzzing round her
are troubadour singers
swaying on blossoms
as lovecrazed swingers
and she continues to toss forth
her delicate stringers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem