Dew-droplets on grassy ground, satin spun on fallen leaves,
Stillness echoes all around, air touches it, and as it weaves
Its quiet way, a lone bird sings, a lost voice rising, disavowed
Endeavouring to find her wings, and set upon another cloud,
While down below, the only stirring things,
The air beneath her, and pure white rabbits
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem