Winds off a summer lake
waft a willow breeze to the shore;
once we were children playing and laughing
innocently as the sunlight kissing our shoulders;
my remembrances of you were left
in rippling water reflections;
gradually we disappear and drop the essence of our love
like grains of sand from a plastic beach-side bucket;
after a certain age, dear friend, there is only mourning that remains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem