From the bottom of a dream,
reaching out to you.
To it you give much thought when,
one is awake.
Winter there when here there is green spring.
Waters scarce!
The bottoms not quite reached but she still moves,
I'm but half way in.
You and I we stop!
Does it the hill have bushes growing there,
still within hand's reach?
While song's to the ear of some, came not from here.
end is near, who is there?
And how you talked to me when you were near.
Reaching for the bottom of, before you're there,
elbows that seldom touch are every where.
Full the moon sometimes in day is seen,
when we are looking up.
Thus inside the well from whence you drink.
It is neatly there inside she thinks,
as sponge's swell.
The bottom when if reached is touched by those,
But few would think.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i like it. but i'm in a hurry. ha! perhaps my favorite stanza: Does it the hill have bushes growing there, still within hand's reach? While song's to the ear of some, came not from here. end is near, who is there? if you are really describing a dream, i'd guess you did it well. i'm searching for a shorter poem to put into the March showcase. i believe I SENT YOU A MESSAGE asking permission to shorten a long one of yours, but i don't believe you ever responded! i just now remembered i did that. no wonder (now) that i did not have a poem from you in the showcase already. bri :)