Loping leaves along the lane
scuttle fall rise and run again
race and chase one another.
Leaves dashing after leaves
before the breeze.
I wish to join as they
rush again in their play
race and chase before
the eager urgent breeze.
I hear their laughing calls
hear their rustling rolls
share their cries of glee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem