My dandelion,
Wears a body
Of mantis green,
And a wig
Of sea foam white.
My dandelion,
Lives by the ocean,
On a small plot
Of cardboard grass-
Beside a fence.
She was a weed....
In spring.
Now November,
I do not have anything....
No swaying flowers but-
My dandelion...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem