Within the sapping trees that leaves absence years and fears. Wording and speaking of emotions and thoughts where a listen hasten the distant nigh. By the trees the blind for awhile that darken the day with a touch and rub of the alike ice. Enticing milk that rare course the tread of the soul upon the cease of burble activities. Forgoing sight and insight awhile within the isle of solitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem