When there is a mild storm, feed the soul.
Relate to the fate of the stork, of the baby
crying for the first time due to lightning.
Place storm water in a teapot straight
from the heavens and measure it.
Lay down in the world and rest.
The hawk is resting.
The lamb relinquishes completely...
Depending on our wishes and our needs
so should some of us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem