I have a small house by the lake
And a chair to sit under the tree
I like to read books sipping tea
I feel out of world and damn free
I watch birds come to the lake
Play in its clean and pure water
White clouds float across its body
I watch them and feel much better
There is no sound except soft
Whistling of the wind flowing
From edge of the hills standing
Near the lake and in ray glowing
I like to be left alone in this land
Of hills and lakes and white snow
And I will die with a book in my
Hand and that no one should know
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem