Pitching his tent in an impressionist garden,
does the green gardener
find an end to his strokes!
From half a pound of green
to a full pound,
time rolls on;
with every pace
greener and greener grows the truth.
From the easel
colours spread out to the horizon.
The garden adores the sky
kissing the earth.
Once in love
how can an end come?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem