Gladiolas flower
Before the spring sun
Minutes turn to hours
Then the day is done
Falling heat
Brisks the summer day
Winds of disseat
Blowing sin away
Crisp fog swallows
Blinding the path
Like a solemn vow
Imposing its wrath
Gladiolas flower
Scorched by the sun
Minutes turn to hours
Then this poem is done
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem