Sitting on the pavement, breeze waking the leaves;
totally oblivious - lost in the poems she weaves.
The clouds and skies, they start to spit, just soft at first but then,
The heavens truly open - they'll stop, but who knows when?
The path suffices as a place to sit and rest her feet.
In the silent, her heart pumps loud; she hears its steady beat.
Her eyes explore the surroundings as she sits all alone,
But she longs not for company, or to make her presence known.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem