This green forest, I see it
near quiet lake,
when I have steped lightly over
to hear its multi-coloured thrill.
My horse approves of me joyfully
that I have remained on the plain at dusk
water lilies wait to cry
in the high sky, moon appears.
In my hand, an extinguished tinkling
asks the wind about the water
on whose lustre
my dreams and sighs are reflected.
Sweet dreams are born and grow up
a depth sleep assembles in forest,
I walk silently on my way
shading paths with tinkling of branches.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem