Sprinklers automatically coming on out back, sun shining
timidly through leaves and branches of trees low to the
ground.
Little droplets of water jumping and playing, soaring in-
to the atmosphere, then falling mirthlessly onto the sur-
face of the ground.
Disappearing among thousands of blades of green grass grow-
ing from the dirt, never to be seen again except in this
poem and photographic memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem