It seemed
dawn was summoned
by dusk;
the dewdrops
have not fully covered
the grass.
And a cautious cricket
has a lump
in its cricket throat.
Is that solitary star
a foreboding
of morning;
a thin veil of fog
unmasks a diminishing
eavesdropping
moon -
is it the moon
or the sun
feigning a flicker
lest the backyard bonfire
blow
last night's
black dust.
The swallows
start
to swallow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
misty and cool poem. Beautiful