The end of spring is the end of years of hard ache,
One felt beauty to be a metallic work of suddenness;
The endings so summoned meant gravity of sin,
Once the reasons were declared for the peace.
Gone were the days when hours meant hugging and laughing,
Their strange meaning pervaded the religion so taught;
Days and nights alighted the years of change,
One of the days meant more laughter than some.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem