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two cold wafts..
in the ways of hot summer...
two migrant songs..
they made sail from twigs of trees...
they sailed with aroma of affectionateness..
with blessing of goddesses of fertility...
for thousand years and I try building boat of love..
for I sail in the pure eyes..
to islands of coral...
ah..ah..what is nicer? ! ..
when the billows are banging me..and the eye-lids climb down...
and I am searching for oar..searching for faith...
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem