in a song that the wind was singing
as past me in a cool breeze it came
and some of the branches of the trees were swinging
and it was as if it was softly whispering at times
of happy things, of other different climes
about the places where it had gone
and the wind blew on and on
and kept on blowing right into the new morn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem